A Dream From Darkness
by The Penitent Heretic
Summary: In a dark world, a haunted Harry Potter is not The Chosen One. After great loss, however, the heralded mind of his generation will surmount legends to avenge those he loved. Amidst a bloody Triwizard Tournament, infatuations of the heart, and things that truly go bump in the night, his path lies nebulous. Yet there are fates worse than death.. In fact he's counting on it. AU. Harem
1. Prologue: Red Sun

"Shall we begin?"

On an isolated beach in the far north of Scotland, a loud impact resonated in the silence of the early morning; the sound of a boot meeting flesh. Normally this would cause many a nesting bird to squawk in fright from their cliffside homes, except any wildlife in the area had long since fled the vicinity. After all, the beach was in utter ruins.

The sound came again, louder, and yet again, drowned out ever so slightly by the waves crashing in the distance and the soft crackling of a fire nearby.

"Enervate," the same voice entoned, resigned.

Antonin Dolohov, mass murderer and Death Eater fanatic, awoke with a pained groan. His head throbbed something fierce, as though he were hit repeatedly whilst unconscious, and for a moment he wasn't sure where he was. Everything was fuzzy and disorienting. Seconds ticked by as his vision swam into focus, and when it did he'd wished he was able to return to that blissful darkness he'd awoken from.

For before him stood death. Only death wasn't supposed to wear glasses…

"Welcome back to the land of the living," droned the spectre in front of him. "Now don't get too comfortable. You won't be here long, I assure you, but probably longer than you'd like."

Dolohov tried to be steadfast, to sneer in the face of this would be avenger, but it sounded hollow in his own ears. After the fight he'd just been through, it was a challenge to form coherent words. "You don't scare me, Potter."

The man in front of him, Potter, seemed to smile at that, as he took off his spectacles and caringly wiped them with a cloth he'd pulled from his vest pocket. "Oh? Well, that's good. As an auror, I am a servant of the people. I've a reputation to maintain, after all."

A sharp scream tore from Dolohov's throat. He hadn't even seen the man pull his wand, but somehow Potter had cast a blood boiling curse at his arm. The pain was unbearable, the veins in his arm withering and the rest of his body soon felt as though it were on fire from the inside out.

"Besides," continued Potter, as though he wasn't torturing the man, "I'm not looking to scare you. See, I'm a practical man."

Potter placed his glasses back on casually, looking intently at every twitch in the screaming man's body, memorizing the moment.

"The amount of fear you deserve to feel, the same amount of terror my wife felt when you ambushed her and my son in our own home - being the _coward_ that you are - that's not something you're capable of experiencing." Potter took a steadying breath. "No, it requires one to love something far beyond themselves; to love something more than life itself."

The spell ended abruptly, but the damage had been done irrevocably. Dolohov couldn't feel his right arm - his wand arm - below the shoulder. The rest of him felt as though he were still burning from within. After all, blood continues to flow, 'boiling' or otherwise. He knew he needed immediate medical attention if he didn't want to succumb to his injuries or fall into severe shock.

With one look in his captors steel-grey eyes, Dolohov knew he wasn't going to receive it.

"But that _is_ something you value, isn't it? Your life - or what you think passes for one. Your wand arm? That's a big one, definitely. Your looks?"

A slash of his wand and Potter ripped two ugly gashes across the Death Eater's face, causing him to scream anew.

"Mm. A bit deeper than I'd anticipated, sorry. Adrenaline," the man shrugged by way of explanation.

Potter gestured absently to something behind the tied and bound Dolohov, still screaming from the deep cuts across his once handsome face, blood dripping down his front. The fire crackling in the background seemed to move as the air around Dolohov grew warmer. A thud was heard, then another, as something massive circled the fallen Death Eater to stand next to Potter.

"Your looks are another one, sure. But that's not enough is it? Someone as resourceful as you would still find a way to enjoy life, likely at the expense of others."

He didn't want to look, certain of what it was, yet curiosity got the better of him. Through a still flowing curtain of red, Dolohov recognized the grotesque creation before him. The same one used in the duel earlier that night; a duel that caused him, arguably the best of his peers, to tremble in awe at what the vengeful auror was capable of.

The colossus stared into his very soul, still alight by the dark flames he'd used against it. For a creature comprised of two trees transfigured together and animated by admittedly unparalleled prowess, it was surprisingly fire resistant. The purple flame spell he'd used on it only added to its menace in the long darkness of the beach. The fact that it was kept around after the duel caused knots to form in Dolohov's stomach.

"That is, at the end of the day, all that vermin like you value." Potter continued on, heedless of the gnawing terror infecting his captive. "Which means there is no greater thing I could do to ruin your life… than by simply ending it."

Fear.

It was a foreign concept to Dolohov. He hadn't felt it in years, since long before the start of the previous war, but he felt it now. There may have been apprehension and even timidity in the presence of his master. There was certainly frustration when he'd faced the likes of Dumbledore or Moody in the past, and only barely made it out alive. But fear as a whole? This was a first.

He wasn't a fan.

As with all things he didn't understand or disliked, the Death Eater raged against it with all the vile vitriol he possessed. Instincts of an experienced shit-talker kicked in, instinct bred to rile an opponent up, cloud their judgement, to stall for time. ' _Time_ ,' he thought desperately. ' _I just need time. They'll be here any minute now, sure as the dawn._ '

"Your wife was a good fight, I'll give you that." Dolohov almost smiled as he spoke whilst successfully holding back the tremor that wanted to come forth. He could do this. "Good fight, even better lay. I can almost see why you turned blood traitor for that harlot, Potter! Almost, that is."

He let out a cackle filled with malice and confidence he didn't remotely feel as he stared at the blank face of the man across from him. The colossus - still burning, still massive - stood not five paces from the bleeding out Death Eater, who worried internally that the auror would sick his creation on him any second now. When the order didn't come, and Potter's face remained neutral, Dolohov pressed on.

"Your son, on the other hand, I must admit was less impressive. He stood there, watching Uncle Ant have a go on mummy, crying the whole time like the daft bastard he is. Apple didn't fall far from the tree there, eh? I tell, I was half tempted to give him a go on my po-"

"My son didn't cry."

Dolohov blinked at being cut off mid-rant, and so casually. Potter stood there, his arms at his sides, clenched, but his voice was even and his breath steady.

"He- wha? You listening to me, boy? Your soggy afterthought wept his grey eyes silver by the time I-"

"His eyes are green."

The fire that failed to consume the colossus nonetheless crackled away, feasting on self repairing bark, splinters bursting in the silence of the night.

"Green; a pair of startling emeralds, just like his mother's. And he didn't cry. My son, seven at the time, he lunged at you with a knife while Lily fought to hold him back and keep you at bay. She managed it, too. She never was the strongest fighter in the Order. That honor likely went to myself or Alastor after big-guns Albus, of course, but she was certainly the brains behind a lot of our tricks. She used every one on you, got you wound up tighter than a first year in his first duel."

"How do yo-"

" _You_. The mighty, terrifying, Dolohov. 'Fastest wand on the circuit', they said. A duelling champion, turned mass murderer. 'A sadist,' I said, and my wife - a housewife at the time, mind you - almost sent you to the ringer. I bet that thought just ate at you. You felt the nager build as you were routed spell after spell, not expecting a muggleborn witch caught unawares to have put up a fight. I mean, how dare she? You, a proud pureblood."

The mans words were mocking but they hit Dolohov like a freight train, as though the auror could read his every thought. The Death Eater recalled the mission that had gone so wrong, the anger, the desperation as he looked to be on the cusp of failing his task. The desperation that led to a decision…

"And then you used it, didn't you? Your last, desperate gambit."

It was as though Potter had merged with him somehow. "Get out of my head," Dolohov ground out, something akin to tears forming in the corner of his eyes. Not tears of regret, but tears of frustration, fear, terror. The same emotions he'd felt that day.

Terror.

"You cast a spell you'd only heard whispered. **Fiendflumen**. _Dark waters_."

Flashes of a flood that spilled from the air around them came to Dolohov's mind, images of a instantly submerged kitchen and a woman - red haired and beautiful - fight against the pressure of the raging waters around her and her child.

"No," the Death Eater denied, fruitlessly.

"You summoned it, but couldn't control it. So you fled, like the coward you are."

Dolohov remembered the last thing he'd seen before portkeying away. He'd dropped an anti-apparition tangle on the wards prior to his attack, preventing a similar timely escape for his targets. The damned witch was losing ground to the waters, filled with unseen creatures of nightmares, clawing and grasping against her golden shield. It cracked and slowly shrunk on itself as her magic fought against something that didn't belong on this plane of existence.

He'd vanished with a satisfied smile on his face.

"But she fought on. Gryffindor, through and through. My son did as well, lending her his strength." Potter seemed to have grown closer during his story, now standing directly in front of Dolohov, boring into his eyes. "She made a last gambit of her own. An anchor charm, from her magic to his, forcing them to collide together to maintain a shield strong enough to keep death at bay. Strong enough… and small enough… for one."

James Charlus Potter, husband to Lily Potter nee Evans and father of Harry James Potter, knelt in front of his foe - his wife's murderer - with fire in his eyes.

"She gave her life for our son. And as the water tore at her, suffocated her, drowned her, she smiled at our boy. Told him she loved him, even as he screamed for her, unable to help. In a cruel way, his own magic worked against him to keep him safe. Lily was thorough."

Waves crashed louder on the beach, the tide slowly rising. James knew that Dawn was approaching, but only one of them would live to see it.

"Then the water rescinded," he condluded his recollection. "The spell ended, as though satisfied in its life claimed. I arrived mere moments after, a minute and a lifetime too late. I had lost the woman I loved and my son lost his mother. I buried my head in her pale, beautiful neck, and screamed my throat bloody. Then, only then, in the wreckage of our home, did my son cry."

Potter's voice had gone almost to a whisper at the end, before turning harder than stone as he finished.

"You know, that memory - my son's memory, our shared nightmare - I'll admit it's kept me going all these years. Drove me, like nothing else ever drove another man before. The results..," he gestured to the landscape around them, illuminated by the burning colossus and the starry sky. A large portion of the beach was torn up. Blackened sand, scorched pebbles. Deep scars in the earth, explosion holes, and even a boneyard plagued the once untouched landscape. "...speak for themselves."

"You know what really ended it for your side? Killing Dumbledore." James was ranting now, but he couldn't help himself. "Granted, he took your Dark Tosser with him, if he truly is gone. I don't buy into the rubbish of Longbottom's son having anything to do with the matter, but that's neither here nor there. Point is, you took away the one man - the one singularly powerful and respected entity - that valued your lot's lives. With him gone and the world in chaos… the kid gloves came off. The Order, the Aurors, hell, the common folk. We stopped playing nice - if only for a mere week or two before bureaucrats did what they do best - and we killed you. We killed you all up.

Because one thing your kind didn't take into account, the same mistake you're going to die for tonight, is that when you take someone we love, we ache. And that ache can only be filled with one thing: revenge. At all costs, at any costs. Unhealthy, perhaps even cycle feeding, I'll admit. After all, where does it end? Clearly, in your case, it ends here. With you. Dead."

Dolohov could hear his heart stop beating for a moment.

"There'll always be an avenger for the good in this world. I guarantee it."

"Get on with it then," Dolohov spat out, tired of the man's monologuing. Did he expect an apology, a plea for help? Tempted as he was to give one, the Death Eater knew it would do him no good here. "What're you waiting for!"

Potter remained unaffected by the outburst. "Your spell, it gave me an idea… of how best to kill you."

The massive colossus moved closer to the pair, looming over the bound man like a demon from hell, capable of squashing him with a single flick of its trunk sized fist.

"Not that," Potter said, once more reading his mind. "No, this was considerably more… poetic. After all, you killed my wife with one of the _Four Fiends_. I figure I should return the favor."

Dolohov felt sweat and ichor pour down his brow. One of the fiends… he couldn't think of a worse way to go, having only seen two of the archaic death spells in person, and terrified by their power.

Was this how he ended? He killed an upjumped mudblood and now he died alone, in unbelievable pain, on a beach in the middle of nowhere. Alone. That was the thought he oddly focused on. "It's a funny old life.."

"Not for you, it isn't. Not anymore."

Dolohov's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to say that aloud, but then again, what did it matter? Potter was going to kill him now. He'd used his ace up and no one had showed. He was truly alo-

Several things happened at once.

The wind stopped blowing, as though summoned elsewhere.

James Potter raised his wand, storm-grey eyes focused with all the rage he possessed. " **Fiendno-** "

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

The sudden green light of the killing curse blitzed through the darkness right at the avenging auror…

...only to harmlessly impact the wooden colossus that moved to shield its creator with deceptive speed.

Then all hell broke loose.

Spellfire from three sides fell upon the ambushed Potter who quickly cast a sophisticated at the still bound and bleeding out Dolohov, all the while dodging multiple spells. If the assailants were a rescue party, he'd make their querie dead weight.

His colossus roared, a deep earthy sound that caused some level of fear in the attackers if their momentary pause was any indication. James almost smiled to himself in spite of the situation. Cowards, he could take care of, even if it was four on one.

He danced around the spellfire, returning it where he could with blood-freezers, bone breakers, exploding, imploding and dislodging curses. He wasn't fucking around.

His colossus neared the closest of the spellcasters, the wizard now illuminated by the walking inferno of wood. ' _Death Eaters_ ,' groused James internally as he set his eyes on the typically attired scum with mask and cloak, affirming his initial suspicion. ' _Of course they came for him._ '

The wizard reigned spell after spell on the towering tree, causing piles of bark and chunks of wood to fly off the creature, but he blitzed him nonetheless. The dark wizard didn't seem perturbed by the closing gap between him and the creature if his callous spellcasting was any indication.

' _He expects to apparate away_ ,' mused James, a dark smirk crossing his features as he dodged and returned another killing curse with a twisted chain of his own with lightning fast accuracy. A shrill cry of agony came from the previously shielding Death Eater, no doubt not expecting the auror to cast a silent torture curse somewhere in the mix. James capitalized on this with a quick severing charm that connected with the man's neck. The scream ended abruptly, and the spellcasting from the other two unoccupied attackers paused.

"Crabbe... Crabbe! You, you killed him! You bastard!" came the familiar voice of Gregory Goyle Sr, rage filled and more than a little panicked.

The spells picked up again, more ferocious this time, but less calculated; sloppy. James almost felt as though Christmas had come early. If these were the men sent to rescue Dolohov, then he'd have the chance to kill several 'imperiused' Death Eaters. So long as the likes of Malfoy or Rockwood didn't join the fray, he would wipe the floor with them and in self-defense, no less!

Not one to count his dragons before they hatched, James squared his shoulders and focused. He dodged and shielded the barrage of spells, using even the ground itself to rise up and block an attempted torture curse, all the while keeping an eye on the assailant cornered by his colossus.

"What the hell?!" questioned the frustrated man. A raspy, familiar voice. Walden Macnair, the magical creature executioner, James identified.

' _He just figured out I layered a one-way anti-apparition field over this clearing. Took him long enough._ ' He hadn't intended on allowing Dolohov to slip away during his chase, after all.

Sure enough, Macnair tried and failed once more to turn and apparate away, now backing away fearfully from the closing giant that refused to give in to its injuries. Said colossus, battered and finally being eaten away at by the flames poured upon it, smacked - in no other words - the living shit out of the executioner, sending Macnair tumbling a quarter of a field away. If the man was alive after such a hit, he certainly wasn't getting up anytime soon.

The colossus gave a final mighty roar of success before dual exploding hexes found their way to its now exposed chest cavity. The explosions ripped it apart irreparably. It fell to the ground with an earth trembling boom, sending splinters of wood in all directions.

Using the distraction, James sent an overpowered shield piercer trailed subtly by an exploding charm towards Goyle, who took the bait of dodging directly into the field of the overpowered bombarda maxima. Only he was shielded by his remaining comrade at the last second, causing James to frown at the second man's quick thinking.

"Now, now," whispered a soft voice. "It's not nice to use the same trick twice."

' _Bollocks_ ,' cursed James, immediately placing the voice. "Ah. Augustus Rockwood. Curious seeing you here tonight. Managed to get 'held under the imperius' again, have you?"

The Department of Mysteries former employee took off his silver mask. "I've no idea what you're referring to, my dear boy. I was simply out and about for a pleasant evening stroll when I saw several of my esteemed colleagues being best upon by an auror with what I must presume is an ill-placed grudge."

The way the man talked, it was a clear mockery of another wizard. A wizard James Potter held in high regard during the man's life. Still did, in fact. The mere thought caused his anger to rise, but he pushed it down, formulating a plan to counter a dark wizard almost as good as Dolohov had been.

"Your impression of him is rather off. For starters, you lack his eccentric vocabulary. Dumbledore was long-winded, I'll grant, but he had style. You, you're just a husk; a conglomeration of multiple borrowed personalities complete with an arsenal of stolen spells. You're hollow."

The older man dropped his faux-jovial smile and bored holes into James with his glare. It appeared the auror had struck a nerve if the Death Eater's silence was any indicator.

"But that's no concern of mine." James fixed himself into a dueling stance, ever so subtly pointing his wand at the ground and casting a sightless, silent spell at the sand with intense focus. "I've no time for your games," he finished absentmindedly, feeling his spell take root.

"I'm in no gaming mood!" snarled Goyle, having grown impatient.

A limb severing curse sailed at the bespectacled auror, and they were off once more. One against two, whilst three others lay scattered about, unmoving. The odds, as exhausted as he was, were certainly in James' favor. All he had to do was keep the admittedly canny Rockwood distracted.

"It's clear your _gluttony_ remains unsustained in your social isolation, but I'm not surprised. After all, who on Earth would welcome you back into the fold - a convicted Death Eater, a mole who cost the lives of countless coworkers. Malfoy, Nott, hell even Crabbe and Goyle-"

"Don't you dare say his name, mudblood lover!"

James answered Goyle's outburst with a blasting hex without missing a beat.

"-they got away fairly clean! They bribed their way back into everyone's good graces. But you? You had nothing to offer anyone, and that lot wouldn't dare help you and risk their own tentative standing, 'innocent' or otherwise. Ostracized, while the rest of your Death Nibbler pals either ponied up to their crimes or were killed."

Rockwood grit his teeth in frustration as he tried to cover for an increasingly sloppy Goyle, all the while acknowledging the aurors words and dismissing them in turn. He let Goyle take a disarming spell that he was too slow to block himself. That was his own petty revenge, the former Unspeakable mused, watching his rotund peer not only lose his wand but also get knocked out in the process. Rockwood's failure to cover for Goyle threw their opponent off guard, however, and that was all the opening he needed.

A neon blue spell left Rockwood's wand and collided with the ground where James had been standing not a second prior. It was spell James couldn't identify by color and trait alone, like many of the ones cast by the former Unspeakable, in which case it was almost always better to dodge. He was just a fraction too late, however, as it was an area effect spell. Instantly, ice erupted from the ground within a four meter radius, jagged crystals piercing up into the aurors leg, causing James to bark a sharp yell of pain.

Rockwood smiled at his victory, the first to gain blood on their absolutely monster of an enemy, he admitted grudgingly. He made to follow up with a killing curse, his wand tip glowing deathly green, when something burst from the ground beneath him.

Snakes. Four meter long snakes, comprised of compact sand and broken shell yet nonetheless sentient, sprung from the ground they'd tunneled under from their inception two minutes prior, and shackled the ex-Unspeakable to the ground with ruthless efficiency. One latched one to the mans arms and constricted. Bones could be heard snapping over the sound of the man's scream, which soon turned to gurgling as the other clamped down on his neck viciously.

James Potter panted. Exhausted and bleeding, but nonetheless successful in taking down five Death Eaters, two of whom were Inner Circle members, in successive duels. He couldn't wait to see the look on Moody's face when he told him. Or his son for that matter. Thoughts of his son brought a melancholic look to the man's face. ' _I hope you'll be proud of me.._ '

But first, he had unfinished business with one Antonin Dolohov. He transfigured himself a cane from his belt buckle to better help him stand, not wanting to waste any more energy conjuring one from nothing. He would need all the magic he could muster for the spell he was interrupted from casting on Dolohov.

James waved his wand through the air, conjuring up his warmest memories - life with Lily and Harry before that awful day - and his thoughts took manifestation in the form of a bright, silvery stag. He sent it off into the distance with a silent message - alert Amelia and Sturgis where he was. He knew by the time the patronus message reached them, he'd be well past done with Dolohov. They'd figure the rest out later, including how the others knew where to find their fugitive friend and when to come to his aide.

James Potter never bothered to check any of the assailants sleeves. If he had, he would have seen a singular mark, once still and faded, now alive and darker than the night.

Limping towards his still unconscious target, he tried to block out the gasps and gurgles still coming from Rockwood. He'd long since cancelled the transfiguration magic holding the snake constructs together, but the Death Eater clung to life. With a stray thought, he summoned all the wands in the vicinity to him. Holding all five in his hands, he proceeded to snap them all in turn.

As he reached Dolohov, James allowed himself to smile tiredly. There would be no more surprises for him today. The sun would rise any minute now, on a new world for him and his son.

Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and James spun around, wand at the ready, only to meet darkness. 

* * *

Red eyes - sharp red eyes set in a contrastingly soft teenage face, but inimitable red eyes nonetheless - met James when he awoke. A cold ball of dread sunk in his chest then, but he voiced what first came to mind. "I knew it."

A laugh, high pitched and cruel and looking oh-so-out of place on a sixteen year old, met his statement. "I know you did, Potter. And what's more delicious, is you made your thoughts known to everyone else. Of course, no one listened, but who can blame them. After all, the thought of someone like me coming back from the grave?" Red eyes shone with mirth. "Now _that_ is terrifying."

"If you're to going to kill me, be done with it." James felt he'd spoken hastily as thoughts of his son swam to the forefront of his mind, but he knew deep down the monster in front of him would never spare his life. Not again.

"Testy, testy. And to think I'd come all this way with you to have a catch-up. Then again, this isn't quite the welcome party I'd been expecting."

The Dark Lord, somehow in possession of a teenage body, gestured to the carnage around them. A man James absently recognized as Mulciber walked around waking Goyle, trying and failing to rouse Dolohov from his unique coma, then checking on a surprisingly still breathing Rockwood and Macnair. It appeared their master had turned the tides of life and death in their favor whilst James was passed out. Bitterness crept up in the man's chest. He should have killed them while they were down instead of letting nature take its route.

"My, such dark thoughts for such a paragon of the light." It appeared he wasn't the only one who could read minds tonight. Voldemort - for he was Voldemort, there was no mistaking - let off a soft chuckle. "What's that muggle expression the old fool loved so much? Aha, 'The shoe is on the other foot now', isn't it? Almost like an exact mirror of the poor state you had Dolohov in not moments ago. Who now would say Lord Voldemort is without his poeticism."

"So you searched your servants memories after getting the drop on me. Am I supposed to be impressed, Tom?" James, in a prior life, had what was referred to by his friends as 'a penchant for properly pissing people off'. The talent, it seemed, hadn't completely fled him in his adulthood.

The torture curse came swift and silently, and James grit his teeth to keep from screaming. He wouldn't allow the monster the satisfaction. Minutes felt like hours, and just on the cusp of passing out, the pain ceased, leaving him to shudder like a fish out of water.

Blood filled his mouth. He'd either bitten something, or perhaps that was just his body giving up.

"Still as impertinent as ever, Potter." The boy housing the monster grabbed James' cheeks in his surprisingly strong hand. He looked familiar, but the auror couldn't place him.

"Thadeus Avery. Son of Magnus Avery. You remember him, don't you?"

James did. Sturgis had put the pathetic man away during the war only for him to bribe his way out of prison along with the other wealthy purebloods.

"Well, he received quite the shock when instead of his son returning from Hogwarts, he got… me."

Flashes of Avery senior being killed by the spectre of his son in front of his dumbfounded mother, blood spraying across the parlor of their home struck James before he managed to break eye contact and pushed the invading legilimens attack out.

Thadeus/Tom smirked. "You're wondering how. How did I survive my death at the hands of a mere infant. How did I return to this plane and come to possess young Avery so completely. How am I standing before you today, with so many of my followers already back into the fold. How, how, how."

"No."

The smirk fell from the boy's face. "No?"

"No." James straightened from his spot bound on his knees and dared to look the villain in the eye once more. "And you certainly talk a lot more than you used to."

"My lord, allow me to kill this impudent mu-"

"That won't be necessary, Mulciber." He sent the Death Eater a look that expressed his displeasure at the man unsilencing himself. "And you, Potter. _Pride…_ It's as present in you as ever, I see. It seemed fitting to send Dolohov after you; different sides of the same coin. Brash, prideful, but for good measure. Both of you are immeasurably talented, though it seems my own man has slipped of late while you… grew."

A strange tone entered Tom's voice as he bent down to once again examine his captive. "Why? Was it merely for revenge? A man took the life of someone you loved and you had to be better to return the favor, is that it?" He searched in James' eyes for an answer, but the Potter Lord kept him out this time. "I don't need to read your thoughts to know the answer, boy."

It was strange, James mused, being called a boy by a mere child - at least, physically.

"You're not just an avenging husband, but a defending father… I see. I suppose that makes as much sense as anything; loss, revenge. It does funny things to a man of conviction. Even a loving father.. Perhaps, especially a father."

James didn't respond, his mind far away. The waves lapped their way further up the beach and the Death Eaters who were alive and conscious began to wonder at their Lord's direction in conversation.

"I've seen your son, Potter!" The Dark Lord's voice returned to its usual sneer driven speed. "Rather, Thadeus has prior to our, hmm, 'bonding'. Went to school together, of course, a few years removed."

The boy/monster paced around James in a familiar sight, but his movements, his speech was somewhat different. The auror could only assume whatever process by which he'd come to take young Avery's body had also integrated some of the boys personality as well.

"Quiet, this 'Harry' is. A bit reclusive even for a Ravenclaw - and I'm half-surprised your Gryffindor heart didn't mind that particular fact - but nonetheless talented; perhaps more so than either of his parents were. There's potential there, I'll grudgingly admit. It's a pity he'll have to grow up without either of his parents now. Orphaned fully, I doubt he'll live long to meet any plans you'd had for him." He closed in on James a final time. "I'm afraid you're heavily to blame, a guilt you'll take to the grave. And with that thought..."

Tom flicked his wand and James unceremoniously flew headfirst into the waiting arms of Goyle and Mulciber. "Wha'dyu want to do with him, mi'lord?" Goyle had recovered, but his jaw hadn't.

"Drown him."

James could have laughed if the brutish Goyle wasn't already choking his windpipe the moment he'd caught him. "Drown him? 'Ow? I've got no wand and Mulciber here don't know that type of magic."

Mulciber angrily opened his mouth to defend himself, but their master cut them off impatiently.

"Not with wands, fools." His voice came out as snakes hiss, once again showing the handsome boy's true identity. "The sea is behind you. Potter loves muggles so much… drown him without magic. Personally. Maybe then he'll feel closer to his wife in death." As the men carried out their masters orders without hesitation, their prisoner fighting tooth and nail to escape, Riddle let out a wry smile at the sight. "A poetic end for my enemies... Let it not be said I am without mercy."

The two Death Eaters let out a few choice words as the freezing northern waters met them. "Merlin's saggy tits, its freezing. A warming charm couldn't have hurt!" Mulciber groused, dragging the tall Potter alongside Goyle.

His friend shook his large head as he repeatedly 'accidentally' dunked Potter in the freezing cold waves, still upset about Crabbe's demise. "You 'eard the master. He wants this blighter killed muggle, we kill him muggle. A warming charm 'll do the trick once we're done."

Mulciber groused but carried on until they were waist deep.

"Pity, Potter. You didn't even make it to sunrise."

"Go fuc-"

James never finished as he was unceremoniously dunked into the frigid waters, instantly taking in a mouthful of the sea. His eyes bulged underwater, registering the cruel laughing of the men above him. He struggled with all his considerable might to break free, but the firm hands holding him were unyielding and the water so cold.

He was trapped, so instead he fought with every fibre of his being to think of Lily. Forced himself to focus on her face in spite of the agony, just as she had. ' _I love you_ ,' she'd whispered to their son. Now, he whispered the same thing to the muted darkness underwater. He clung to images of Lily, Harry, even Sirius and his parents; struggled to think of his family when he died, because he'd be damned if he went out thinking of anything or anyone else, let alone himself and the panic he felt. But that too faded in time as the need for air overwhelmed his senses and he soon lost the light.

' _Make it end._ '

The water in his lungs. The blood in his mouth. The cold.

They overtook him until he thought of nothing else. Overtook him entirely until, finally, James Potter stopped struggling. Stopped moving.

Stopped breathing.

Goyle and Mulciber held him under for a minute more before hesitantly releasing him to float on the surface of the waters. They backed away with a shrug and a scoff, respectively, the latter due to having had to use his own strength and not a simple spell to kill the blood traitor. Potter deserved something nastier, in his opinion, but one did not argue with the will of the Dark Lord.

From the shore, Riddle looked upon the sight of the floating body with a sense of melancholy. He knew better than his vassals - drowning was no mercy. A part of him relished the thought of his enemy in such a helpless state. The tantalizing agony of not knowing if you'd be spared even while you died slowly, deprived of breath, lungs bursting. It was one of the worst ways to kill a man in his experience, and that experience was… vast.

Another part of him felt almost disappointed. Had he just killed the last person to ever pose a semblance of a challenge to him? James Potter was an incredible duelist, no soul could argue that. One of the best, though there lived yet a dozen or so throughout the world equally, if not more, capable with a wand. More than that however, Potter was also a man of conviction and resources. That type of drive, that level of desperation, proved to be a formidable challenge and still the man had been bested. Like the old fool before him, and literally countless others.

Who now was left to stand in his way? If even Potter, or the likes of Dumbledore perished before him, where did that leave him?

' _Safe_ ,' a voice whispered in his head. His own voice, he realized. ' _It leaves you safe, with the world laid bare before you._ '

The sun rose at that moment, colossal and blood red on the horizon.

Riddle looked at it for a second longer than he would normally before turning away from the light. He knew he wasn't completely out of the woods yet. He'd taken a big hit to his forces tonight, courtesy of Potter. There were still threats to be dealt with, still lose ends to tie up and plans to put in motion. But he smiled - genuinely smiled - at the thought of it.

 _Safe_.

Then soon, he would reveal himself to the world. At the opportune moment, he would strike all at once and in the end forever be…

"Watch out!"

He felt the thrum of magic, heard the splash of water, before the warning came. Even so, it wasn't fast enough. This body - his body - was young and limber, but not physically honed and ritually modified to reacting as fast as his old one had been. As it was, he only had time to turn and face the screeching wall of death that approached him.

' **FIENDNOTUS!** '

' _The Dark Wind.'_

It was as though the very fabric of matter in front of him rippled in and out, jagged cracks appearing in his reality. It wasn't what was happening, he was aware. The wind was simply so pressurized and distorted by the dark summons, it looked as though a vacuum were occuring. The power of the spell was impressive, the power needed to cast it, even moreso for a dead man.

' _Potter…'_

Just as the torrential gust met him, Mulciber jumped in front of his master, instantly being sucked into the whirlwind and torn apart at an almost molecular level.

' _Terrifying_ ,' Tom admitted internally, not even batting an eye as Dolohov - awoken at the moment of Potter's presumed death - used the time bought with Mulciber's life to wandlessly summon his master to safety with what little strength he had. He hadn't been fast enough, however, as the winds tore at his master's arm, shredding it to the layer of muscle. ' _Magic is truly terrifying._ '

The facially scarred man passed out immediately from the strain, but his act bought Riddle all the time he needed. Screaming in agony at the condition of his wand arm, he sent a single wandless killing curse at James Potter who, already spent, turned to face the spell dead on.

He had nothing left in him after his wandless summoning of the fourth and least controllable of the fiends. He instinctively used what little magic he had to raise the water to physically intercept Riddle's hastily cast killing curse, but failed to block the hidden cutting curse behind it. His own patent trick used against him

As he bled into the water, James knew what the reality of his situation was.

He was dead on his feet, magically exhausted, and his spell was now unchained. Even so, thoughts of his son drove him to dive under the water as the hurricane of unseen creatures clawed at the surface attempting to penetrate its depths. If he could just hold on until the dark summons disappeared back to its own plane, he could make it out. Voldemort was wounded. While unable to take him in a fight, he could leave the anti-apparition barrier and wait for the reinforcements he'd summoned.

He would see his son again. He would keep him safe. He would see him smile.

'Harry.'

But he ran out of blood. And air. And time.

And with the vision of his beautiful wife swimming up to him the crystal blue waters, James Potter closed his eyes for the last time.

Back on the shore, Tom Riddle took stock of the bleak situation. The dark wind had dispersed at last, but three of his men lay dead, another three on the cusp of death, with himself horribly injured and in turn robbed of his magical strength aside from a few meager wandless spells that his host body could barely manage. Anger rose in him at the pathetic state he'd found himself in. He could hear the old fool even now, just as he had on the fateful night of their last duel. "You've managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory once more, Tom."

Goyle grunted as he finished bringing over Rockwood, the lot of them piled by Tom's feet as the dark lord worked to stem the bleeding of his wand arm. The dead were left where they were. After all, aurors were inbound.

With a final look upon the horizon where the sun-kissed waves washed Potters body out to sea, Tom had one final parting shot to the man who'd caused him more trouble than any other. He thought back to what the auror had said to Dolohov.

" _There'll always be an avenger for the good in this world. I guarantee it."_

"And who shall be the one to avenge you?" An unplaceable sensation traveled down his spine, but he brushed it off. "I will crush them in turn."

The wards over the area fell with the death of their castor, and with a thundering crack, four Death Eaters and a Dark Lord disappeared, leaving behind a bloody coastline.

* * *

At the same time, in a castle not far from that very shoreline, a young man awoke from a nightmare, emerald eyes piercing the darkness.


	2. Chapter I - White Stag

Water surrounded them.

Unnatural water. Dark, with shapes that moved and twisted; creatures silhouetted against the rolling canvas of their doom. He'd heard that some magics in the world were old and elemental and as frightening as they were beautiful. This wasn't it.

This was terrifying. Magic that was otherworldly and utterly… _wrong_.

While he trembled, incapable of speech at the sight of the maelstrom writhing angrily around them, the woman next to him was unflinching in the face of certain death. His mother stood tall, her auburn hair whipping about in an unseen wind, a grim smile of determination set affix a pale, beautiful face. Sweat dripped like a faucet from her brow but she paid it no heed, focused solely on protecting them. She reassured him - with unfounded certainty - that they were going to be alright. She promised.

His mother stood there like a legend of old, forcefully maintaining a golden shield of magic around them, keeping death itself at bay. She looked like the type of hero found in the fantasy tales she and his father had read to him when he was younger. She was his guardian angel, and for a moment, Lily Potter's words found purchase in her son.

They were going to be alright.

Then the shield cracked.

And the water - the vicious, unearthly, monstrous water - rushed in with malicious glee.

And she turned to him, even as the cracked shield reformed and shrank to encompass his seven year old self, protecting him and _only_ him, and she said the words that would haunt him forever.

"I love you."

Their eyes met, matching pools of green, and he said it back. Or at least he wished he had. He tried, but his mind was swimming in horror at the sight, but she had smiled nonetheless, as though knowing what he could not say. His mouth was dry, his throat swollen, and before he could conjure the words, the moment was gone.

'I love you, Mum,' he'd thought, but his body failed to act.

Then death took her in its violent arms, the water ripping her away with uncaring fury. Her auburn hair disappeared into the swirling depths, replaced with crimson blood.

Then he screamed the scream of a lifetime.

* * *

When he woke, it was to complete silence.

He didn't scream or pant or sigh. He didn't cry. He simply blinked his eyes clear, a pair of sharp emeralds glaring into the darkness as the world shifted and locked into focus. He was used to the dream. It was the same one he'd had the night before, prior to leaving Hogwarts for the summer. It was the one he'd had almost every night for the past seven years.

With practiced ease, he pushed his childhood memory - his waking nightmare, his reality - to the back of his mind. He brought his legs over the side of his bed near the end table, mechanically putting on his glasses before grabbing the wand next to it. He cast a silent tempus charm, knowing the answer before the smoky digits appeared. 3:14 AM. He barely withheld a sigh, knowing he would be unable to go back to sleep. It looked like it was going to be another early day for him. Then he remembered the day prior and a cold feeling sunk in his gut.

His father.

He'd gotten off the Hogwarts Express in London late in the afternoon. His father hadn't been there. Concerned, but not quite panicked at the break in tradition, he had decided to wander into muggle London - ignoring the many students reuniting with their families, their _complete_ families - until the coast was clear, before apparating directly to Potter Manor. After all, his father had removed the trace from his wand and taught him apparition - among a great many other things - for just such occasions.

When he'd arrived he saw no sign that his father had been there recently, the spartan manor as spotless as ever, his study tidy. That caused him to worry, but not nearly so much as when the wards of Potter Manor began acting a little… odd. He couldn't quite place why or how, but it couldn't be anything good. A routine scan provided no answers and by then night had fallen, so Harry had gone to bed hoping against hope that nothing had happened.

Now it was the early morning and still his father wasn't home.

Slowly, dread filled the normally stoic teen, but that dread turned to something else entirely when the wards shifted once more, as though waiting for his awakening. It was a slight pull, the faintest sensation, but the weight of it brought his world tumbling down.

He recognized it deep within his being; the change. He was now marked as the primary binder of the home, as its… sole… protector. Magic took a while to catch up to reality, especially in the case of familial wards, which meant only one thing.

A breeze entered through the open window of his room; the type of unnaturally warm breeze that preludes a storm.

It was summer now. And his father, James, was dead.

' _Dead_.'

For the second time in his life, Harry Potter's heart broke...

..and he screamed in agony.

* * *

Several hours later, in the highlands of Western Wales, midday had just passed and the strong summer trades brought the scent of the sea from miles away. Twin pops echoed throughout a forest clearing as two people materialized from thin air, the tell-tale crack of apparition sending the wildlife scurrying further into the woods. Despite the two magicals arriving together, they couldn't have looked less alike.

The man was of an above average height, with a thin frame and a serious gait. His gray hair was cropped and thinning, his mouth set in a perpetual half-frown on his otherwise indifferent face, though his eyes remained alert of their surroundings. He was dressed rather mundanely, with an olive green suit, complete with matching pants and tie.

The woman next to him, who appeared much younger than her counterpart, opted for a more vocal fashion statement. Sporting calf-high leather boots, she wore a pair of tight purple jeans along with a high collared black sweater. Unlike the man, there was an indefinable warmth to the young woman that stemmed from beyond her shock of bubblegum pink hair, hoop earrings, and the occasional twitch of her pixie-like nose.

What the two of them did have in common, however, was the matching dijon colored robes they wore. Not unlike trench coats, with the backs emblazoned with the crest of the Ministry of Magic, the unique robes identified them as aurors - elite dark wizard catchers - out and about on business.

Dark business.

"Snowdon. The Potter's live in Snowdon?" voiced the woman as they made their way out of the clearing and saw a large ivory manor amidst the trees, with a colossal mountain silhouetting it in the distance. Surprise colored her voice at the sight. "And here I always thought they were proper English lads."

"And who says proper Englishmen can't live in Wales, Auror Tonks?" The man shot a curious look at his partner, aware of her nervousness and why she was bothering to make small talk. He wasn't the type to indulge and she knew this, but circumstances weren't exactly the norm right now. He looked down at his wand and frowned further. His own fist had yet to unclench around the eleven inch piece of holly since early that morning.

Indeed, circumstances certainly weren't the norm.

"No, you're right. I just half-expected them to reside in Godric's Hollow. Come to think of it though, the assumption was rather stupid. Who'd want to live in a house where…" She suddenly trailed off, aware of her partners closeness on the matter she was about to carelessly explore. Lily Potter had been something of a friend of his, after all. "I mean, why there, when you can live here! Out here where there is nothing and no one but the utter beauty of Snowdonia."

She smiled, gesturing to the admittedly breathtaking scenery before rubbing the back of her head sheepishly, but the act was forced and the man was not amused.

"Are you fit for this?" Tonks stopped and looked at her partner with a startled expression, but the man pressed on, doing his utmost to keep his jaw from clenching at the sudden irritation he felt. "Cause if not, I can do this alone."

"No!" The witch all but shouted. The man raised a brow at her eagerness and she continued on abashed. "I'm fine." A stare was her response. "Really, Podmore, I am. Just a little in shock is all. Don't quite know how to process all of this. First this morning and now this. I mean, how are we supposed to tell him?"

The man, Sturgis Podmore, nodded hesitantly. His partner was still new to the force. She hadn't seen war, or even combat yet. Still fresh and unspoiled by the demands of the job, she couldn't possibly have been prepared for the sight that met them on the beach that morning. He, in all his twenty years on the force and as a veteran of the previous war, hadn't fared much better.

And apparently she also knew the boy, Harry, from her time at Hogwarts. That further complicated matters. It was understandable that she felt a little emotional over the thought of telling the boy his father was dead. Emotions compromised you, however, and Podmore buried deep the ache he himself felt as he returned back to what his talkative partner was saying.

"If anything, I should be asking you that. After all, he was your friend."

"Being James Potter's friend has little to do with it. Frank Longbottom was his friend, and you don't see the Head Hit-Wizard here now, do you? It's because this still falls under a matter of dark arts investigation. It's our duty to be here, as aurors. Nothing more."

"Yes, but Longbottom would hardly be considered a friend, eh?" Tonks refused to let the matter drop as they approached the wards bordering the manor. Her feet hurried to match Podmore's long, hyper-focused stride. "Reckon on account of Potter trouncing him in that mock duel over Longbottom's son. You know, the git who fancies he has the sun shining out of his pudgy arse-"

"Tonks," Podmore said exasperatedly, as though his partner didn't routinely defame the supposed Chosen One.

"-but that's beside the point. Yes, it is our duty to be here… But it's also more than that… He was our boss. And he was your friend. You can admit that much, can't you?"

The older auror stopped just shy of the ward perimeter, but didn't turn to face the younger witch. Somewhere along the way to the manor, the sun had become overcast by thick clouds stemming from the East. It seemed a storm was fast approaching.

"Aye.. He was my friend." Podmore spoke the words so softly they were almost lost in the wind, but Tonks managed to hear it. "And as his friend, it is also my duty to find whoever is responsible for his death. A herculean task, given what little information we have. I can't possibly fulfill that duty, Auror Tonks, if I'm too busy dwelling on mere sentiment."

If it sounded harsh to Tonks, it's because she recognized it for what it was; a rebuke. She could see where Podmore was coming from. The man, for all his callousness, had a heart and she knew this was eating him up inside. But she didn't agree with being so clinical when they were about to approach the now deceased Head Auror's son. There had to be a balance between professional and personal somewhere; some matter of gray area for moments like this.

"Once more, if you can't handle this, you are welcome to return back to HQ. None will think the lesser of you and you won't be reprimanded for failure of your duties, I promise. But if you're going to go into that house with me, you reign in your sentimentality and you work the job." Tonks seemed to shrink in on herself before squaring her shoulders and looking her partner in the eye. Podmore almost nodded. "It's a big house and we'll have to sweep it thoroughly if we're to glean anything behind this damned murder."

"Sir?" In her confusion, the young witch had reverted back to decorum from her trainee days.

"It's a murder investigation, Auror Tonks. We do this by the book, even if it means acting under the suspicion that James - that is, the victim - was involved in anything untoward. We want to do this tactfully, without upsetting the boy. That's where you come in."

Tonks looked more uncertain than ever, but before she could protest or he could open his mouth to tell her to go back to the Ministry, thunder rumbled across the sky and it began to rain. Not the soft, gently drizzling rain you'd expect a storm to start with, but thick, heavy rain that tore at the ground.

Podmore turned from his pink haired colleague and swiftly walked past the wardline without incident, having no ill intent regarding the boy inside or his home.

"Podmore!" Tonks yelled over the rain. "I thought we were told by Madame Bones to wait until Harry's Head of House arrived."

Podmore turned back to the apprehensive auror. "I don't have the time nor the inclination to wait for a babysitter. We're adults, he's a child. Hell, he already knows me for Merlin's sake! He'll listen to us. I'm not waiting."

Tonks let out an explosive breath of frustration, not for the first time wondering why she was paired with such a difficult partner. "What happened to doing this by the book?"

Podmore didn't turn around to reply, but he did stop when a loud 'pop' was heard over the pouring rain.

"Oh my! Welsh weather; can't say it's any dryer than Scottish, can we?"

Podmore nearly groaned as he turned to see the new arrival with barely contained annoyance.

A diminutive man stood between him and his partner, looking far too chipper for the weather and the atmosphere he'd just entered. He stood no taller than a third year, but the man had a presence about him that spoke of intelligence and no small amount of formidability. Podmore knew for a fact that the professor in front of him could take both he and his partner out without so much as breaking a sweat, but the grudging respect he carried for his own former Head of House did little to alleviate the impatience he felt.

"Afternoon, Ms. Tonks," greeted the newcomer. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten the umbrella charm I taught you in your fourth year."

"Wotcher, Professor Flitwick." Tonks smiled at the kind part-goblin before shrugging. "I don't mind a bit of British weather, though I'm surprised you remember me."

"How could I forget?" returned Flitwick, rolling on the balls of his feet as usual. "You were a brilliant student, if a little clumsy." Tonks blushed at that and Podmore almost snorted at the understatement. "That and, frankly, I haven't had the pleasure of teaching more than a few metamorphmagus' in all my time as a professor at Hogwarts. Such a talent tends to leave an impression, wouldn't you say?"

Tonks mumbled something incoherent. Podmore knew she was of two minds about her incredibly rare shapeshifting abilities, but the girl would have to figure it out on her own.

"Ah, Sturgis." Flitwick had rounded on him now, his excitement dampened only marginally by the frown of his former pupil. "I see you managed to wait for me. My thanks-"

"-is not needed." Podmore ignored the admonishing look he received from his partner for interrupting the Charms Professor with practiced ease. "We honestly weren't waiting for you, Deputy Headmaster. We were merely…" Here he looked at Tonks and thought back to their discussion. "...delayed."

"I see." The Ravenclaw Head of House brushed off the auror's rudeness as easily as the rain on his brow. "Well, whatever the delay, I am glad that we could all proceed together. I only wish there were no need for any of us to be here."

The sorrow that entered the normally chipper former duelling champions voice lent gravity to the situation and had Podmore frowning harder than before as, unbidden, memories of James came back to him.

"So how do we do this?" asked Tonks, wondering if Flitwick's involvement would benefit or hinder their self-assigned task of searching the manor for anything that could help them. "We do, after all, have an investigation to run as well."

"I assume with finesse and empathy, and perhaps even a small dose of suspicion, Auror Tonks." Sturgis was firm on the matter, but Flitwick pursed his lips at the thought of them investigating immediately. It seemed cold and mechanical, especially for the son of two of his favorite students.

"Remember, Auror Podmore," came the suddenly formal interruption. "My first and foremost priority is as the boy's temporary guardian until such a time as James' will can be attained and made known to us. Until then, as young Harry is currently my ward, we shall proceed in whatever manner I find suitable and respectful. He's already lost his mother as a child, and now he's lost his other parent under equally violent circumstances; that boy has been through too much - enough for a lifetime - and he's not yet fifteen. I won't have you callously bandying about notions of suspicion so close to his grief, are we clear?"

"What would you have me do, Professor?" Sturgis ground out. He wouldn't fight the older man on precedence, knowing the temporary guardian would win, but he was also pressed for time.

"Wait until after we've informed young Harry of his loss. We shall then briefly leave him to gather his supplies, and gather himself, I suspect, before taking him to Madame Bones' manor." This caught both aurors off guard, as their boss (rather their deceased superior's boss) hadn't mentioned this to either of them. "Amelia sent a patronus to me briefly explaining the situation before offering her home as temporary housing for the boy should he choose not to follow me to Hogwarts. I dare say she's feeling a little sentimental herself. We all are." Flitwick stared hard at the stiff-lipped Podmore. "Once he is out of the home, you have my leave to conduct your investigation. Not before. Is that understood?"

Another roll of thunder echoed in the distance, as though to emphasize the Professor's command. Tonks nodded immediately, and after a moment's hesitation, so too did Podmore, unable to see any other way. "Alright, Professor. Let's get on with it."

Flitwick frowned at his former student. "Gently now, Sturgis. The boy just lost his father… and we all lost a great man."

With nothing more to be said, the odd company of three crossed the wards together and proceeded out of the rain and into the true storm.

* * *

On the other side of the country, the skies were clear and the sun was high. Beams of sunlight peeked through the cracks of the high curtains of Bones Manor, with one such spear of light breaking through an upstairs bedroom and causing a previously sleeping figure to groan in annoyance.

Susan Bones narrowed her eyes at the offending beam of light before rolling over and shielding herself with her pillow, too tired to get up and close her blinds fully. She knew it was getting late in the day and she should probably wake properly and set about her chores, but her body protested the thought. Last night had been a late one, having returned home from Hogwarts for the summer and having her traditional sleepover at her friend Hannah's house. They hadn't slept a wink, of course, up all night talking about recent developments at the school and highlights of the past year, and by the time she'd come home in the morning, exhaustion had finally caught up with her.

Still feeling the sun burning into the back of her head, Susan mustered her energy and got up. With a parting glare at the offending crack in the curtains, she mosied off to perform her usual morning routine, starting with a particularly cold shower.

When she came downstairs, changed and feeling revitalized, it was to the unexpected sight of her aunt waiting for her with a neutral look on her monocol'd face. Something was wrong. The head of House Bones was never home at this time of day, the job of leading the Department of Magical Law Enforcement often being all-consuming.

"Aunt Amelia," questioned Susan as she made her way across the foyer. "What's wrong? Why are you home so early?"

Amelia Bones adjusted her monocle as she thought of how best to answer, not even batting an eye that her beautiful niece had correctly assumed something was wrong to begin with. She'd make for a fine auror one day, provided that was the life she chose to lead. Eventually, however, Amelia acknowledged the truth was the truth, and there was no spinning it.

"My Head Auror, James Potter, is dead." Susan gasped, but her aunt wasn't finished. "He was found murdered off the coast of Wick this morning shortly after having sent a patronus messenger claiming he'd found and apprehended mass murderer Antonin Dolohov."

Susan gasped. "The man who'd killed his wife?" Amelia noddied.

Susan Bones was a smart girl. Her formidable aunt, who had all but raised her after both of her parents had been killed in the final stretches of the previous war, had diligently seen to that. Considered an early bloomer by her peers, the admittedly curvy witch - already tall for her age - could perhaps be dismissed as a mere pretty face, but it would be a mistake. Her reputation as a mild gossip at school masked the fact that she absorbed and processed new information like a sponge. While she wasn't quite the top of her classes, she was consistently in the upper echelon at Hogwarts, acknowledging that her true talents lied more outside of the standard spell oriented curriculum, in fields such as politics, economics, and even investigative.

As it was, it took her no longer than a few seconds to correctly assume; "I take it when you arrived, there was no Dolohov."

Amelia almost smiled at her niece, but the pain was still too fresh for gestures of maternal pride. "No, but amidst the carnage of the battlefield -"

"Battlefield?"

"-yes, battlefield, there were several other corpses found. All of them previously convicted Death Eaters. All of them killed by our own dear Mr. Potter."

The Head of the DMLE allowed a bit of pride to color her voice at the end, and Susan pictured it now; the man she'd met at several Ministry parties - tall and broad shouldered and handsome, but always looking off in the distance - fighting tooth and nail against several dark wizards alone on a beach. It was breathtaking, and horrifying. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she saw that her aunt still stared at her, a moroseness behind her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Auntie." And she was. "But why do I get the feeling that you still haven't told me the reason you're home so early."

Susan very much doubted her aunt, however close she was to the deceased, would take an early day when she could be out there rallying her men to investigate and seek justice. Anything less just wasn't the elder redheads style.

"Well, you see, with James being.. dead.. well, it leaves his son without a proper home for the moment. The Potter Manor needs to be investigated thoroughly, unfortunately, as there are just too many unknowns in this case to ignore. Likewise, the will has yet to be located, so until such a time as it can be and the boy's chosen guardian can claim him, he is a joint ward of the Ministry and Hogwarts. I doubt he'd like to return to the castle so soon, which leaves… here."

Susan didn't expect this and her gobsmacked face reflected that.

"I understand that you're in the same year as James' son, correct? Harry, I believe his name is. From what I've heard, he's almost a spitting image of his father."

'Handsomer,' Susan thought absentmindedly, memories of emerald eyes gazing at her from across the History classroom. She shook her head.

"Harry Potter? Coming to live here? I don't understand."

Amelia blinked at the strange tone in her niece's voice. "What's there to understand? A colleague of mine, I dare say one of my best, has just been murdered and his orphaned son shall be staying here in the interim. Is there a problem, Susan?"

While it may have sounded harsh, Susan knew her aunt was genuinely concerned if there was some sort of problem. There was, but one she couldn't come out and admit. "No! I just was caught off guard is all."

Amelia nodded absently, not inclined to press the matter. "Tell me about him, this Harry. I take it you know him."

' _Where to begin_.' Susan gulped.

"Well… not as much as I'd like. He's something of an enigma. He is in my year, like you said. A Ravenclaw, and a typical one at that - quiet, reserved, _wicked_ smart." Amelia smirked at her nieces verbiage. "In fact, he's consistently been the top of our year in just about all classes since we first entered Hogwarts. I don't know if its because of his grades that he doesn't seem to have too many friends outside of the classroom, aside from these three girls in his house." An odd look passed over her face. "Even for a Ravenclaw, not a whole lot is known about him, and people don't really like a know-it-all." Amelia nodded at that, but her niece wasn't done. "Except he isn't a know-it-all!" A bit of color tinted Susan's analysis now, and Amelia's brows slowly rose the further her niece continued. "He's passive and doesn't seem to care to be in the spotlight, only answering when called upon, unlike Granger or Brocklehurst. When he does, he's thorough - almost clinical - in his explanation. When it comes to practical exercises, he's always the first to get a spell down. It'd be impressive if I didn't get the impression that it was child's play for him. It'd be almost aggravating to witness if one were academically inclined and a little competitive."

"And you're not," questioned an amused Amelia.

"Hardly," Susan replied primly, a haughty smirk gracing her pretty face.

"What about outside of the classroom?" Amelia watched a few emotions play across her ward's face and felt she properly understood what the unspoken problem from earlier was. "Other than academically gifted-"

"-that's an understatement-"

"-what is the boy like? Describe him," pressed the Head of the DMLE, hiding her smile at her niece's sudden discomfort.

"Well, he's… tall? Certainly the tallest in our year aside from the Weasley boy. He'll be like his father in that respect; tall, broad shouldered… handsome."

"Handsome?"

Susan blushed, "Auntie…" Amelia tried to keep a straight face, as though she were simply being thorough, but Susan knew otherwise. "Yes. Handsome, alright? He has this thing, this -this devil may care - attitude that, I don't know… could be seen as charming."

"Aloof?"

"Confident," corrected Susan. "Distracted, but confident. Like he knows something the rest of us don't, but at the same time that thing encompasses his thoughts to the point where studies, quidditch, girls, don't seem to bother him."

Amelia blinked. That was an impressive and surprisingly deep analysis. "You've given the boy considerable thought already."

Susan didn't back down from her aunt's probing, but a blush did color her cheeks again. "Like I said, he's a bit of an enigma."

"It won't be a problem, will it? If his staying here is weird, I can find a more suitable-"

"No, auntie." Susan almost cringed at her sudden interest. "It won't be a problem. Promise."

Amelia arched a brow at the girl's eagerness. "Remember, Susan dear. The boy just lost his father. Whatever your feelings on this… enigma, sort them out for later, understand? We're here to provide comfort and safety, but also space."

Susan looked scandalized at the thought of crowding anyone. She was Susan Bones, unspoken leader of Hufflepuff's lowerclassmen, after all. "Of course, auntie."

"Very well then. Have the house elves prepare one of the spare bedrooms for our guest and make yourself presentable. He'll be arriving shortly alongside an auror escort."

Susan turned to do just that, her mind reeling from the sudden information. Harry Potter was coming to stay with them. With _her_. Unbidden, an image of a crooked smile and emerald green eyes flashed in front of her, except the warmth of the smile never reached those eyes. They were sad. Always sad. ' _And now they would be even sadder_ ', she thought.

Amelia watched her niece climb the stairs with a curious look. Her niece, it seems, had a crush on their soon-to-be ward. What a peculiar development. Then again, if the boy was anything like James had been in her time at Hogwarts, she couldn't blame the poor girl. A thought occurred to her and she called out to her niece before she disappeared from view.

"And Susan…"

"Yes auntie?"

"Do keep the floo-call to a minimum. You've chores and some studies to attend to, after all."

"Floo call?" Susan played coy, but her aunt continued.

"And tell sweet Hannah that what you share with her is considered sensitive information and if she must know your schoolgirl crush shall be staying here, she can't, under any circumstance, share that information. Are we clear?"

The soon to be fifth year Hufflepuff attempted to stammer a reply, but Amelia had already turned to enter her study and prepare herself, adjusting her monocle as she shook her head at the predictability of the girl she viewed as a daughter. The world itself could be falling around them and still her niece - brilliant though she was - would no doubt rush to tell her blonde best friend about some boy who'd gotten crushed by a piece of the sky.

"Teenagers," she sighed.

* * *

"Teenagers," began a somewhat nebulous Flitwick. "They truly are resilient, are they not?"

Turning to the diminutive wizard, Tonks nearly glared. "If that's your way of saying, 'That went better than expected,' then clearly we were in different rooms having very different conversations just now, Professor."

Instead of being affronted by the young witch's candor, Flitwick merely laughed, though it was a small, polite laugh that failed to reach his eyes. Soon enough, it too turned to a frown, matching the ones on both of his colleagues faces.

Leaving the Potter Manor, the odd party of three contemplated the young man who'd just lost his father. The young man who hadn't so much as shed a tear upon hearing the news.

"He's hiding something," Podmore said at long last.

He'd been largely quiet the whole time, observing the boy and looking about the house he'd visited on occasion, only commenting to argue against the boys request to be left to grieve and gather his things. While they'd agreed to give the boy his space beforehand, his request for their absence for the whole day had sent red flags up for the seasoned auror. The boy had won out, however, backed by the empathetic Flitwick and Tonks.

Podmore's frown hadn't left his face since.

"Come off it," Tonks shot back. "The kid just lost his old man. He's sad, not suspicious, and you weren't exactly graceful in there. I'm telling you now, leave off."

"And I'm telling you," Podmore replied, teeth grit, "the boy is hiding something."

"The only thing he's hiding, Sturgis, is his hurt." Tonks was getting emotional now, addressing her senior partner by his first name.

Podmore sneered at the young witch. "You're soft, Auror Tonks. The boy barely batted an eye at the news that his father was dead. What kind of-"

"Could be shock," Flitwick supplied, cutting off the aurors tasteless accusations. "He is incapable of processing it so suddenly."

"Oh, he's processing it just fine if you ask me. Lad didn't hesitate to ask for his father's wand. Not to see the body, mind you, but the wand."

"And you'd be eager to see your fathers bloodied corpse, would you?" The older wizard didn't reply and Tonks took that as a victory. "Besides, we already got all we needed off the wand. It should go to the next of kin."

"Yes, but it's the way in which he asked for it." Podmore's jaw hurt from how often he was clenching it this morning. Why couldn't they see things his way when it was clear as day. "You've a blind spot for the boy, girlie."

"Don't call me girl, old man!"

"And you, Professor." He turned to his former Head of House with no small amount of incredulity. "You sense something is off here as well, I know you do. But it's clear your favoritism for your star student is getting the better of you."

Flitwick barely paid the younger wizard any mind, his thoughts still on the boy he'd just left. Sure, Mr. Potter had taken the news far better - if less emotionally - than he could have hoped, and that in itself was worrying, but he also knew the boy. He was naturally quiet, reserved, almost stoic. The boy may have been up to something, though what it was escaped the Charms Professor, but Flitwick knew one thing for sure - it wasn't anything wrong. The boy, for lack of a better word, was good. One of the few truly good ones, and no amount of suspicion from the man beside him would sway him.

' _Besides_ ,' Flitwick thought. ' _Try as one might, there is no way of fully masking that much pain. Mr. Potter - Harry - is a good actor, but I've seen his eyes -know his eyes- and they were unmistakably different today._ '

Deep in his thoughts, Flitwick hadn't even noticed they'd passed the threshold of the wards some time ago. Tonks and Podmore, meanwhile, had continued on in their argument without missing a beat.

"He's clearly just burying his pain. That's what people do, Podmore."

"I know perfectly well what people do with pain, Auror Tonks. Pray tell, what experience do you have on the matter?"

Tonks narrowed her eyes at her partner, a dangerous shade of red entering her blue eyes. "You know damn well that I lost Sirius to that bitch."

Podmore knew it indeed. He'd been one of the first to arrive to the scene, alongside James, after all. Sirius Black. Gryffindor. Hit-Wizard. Philanderer. And, by weird chance of luck during the war, the eventual Head of House Black. More than these things, however, he was a good man.

And James Potter's best friend.

The agony in James' expression when he saw the bloodied and broken body of his best friend, ambushed alone and killed by mass murderer Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband and brother-in-law, had been real. There was pain and anger and hatred.

Needless to say, neither of the Lestrange brothers had survived that night, and Bellatrix only barely so, taken to court and made a prompt example of in the time after Voldemort. In the time after Dumbledore…

That had been the look on someone's face when they lost someone they loved. Not the static look he'd seen on James' son just now. All he saw there was… a void.

"Aye, you lost your Uncle." Podmore allowed. "Memory serves, the boy in there was closer to the man than you were, but that's just another link the two of you have, isn't it? Meaning you're blinded by sentiment."

Things were getting heated and Flitwick was tempted to interrupt at this point, but the two were walking faster and faster and he struggled just to keep up.

"And you're just a paranoid old codger incapable of empathy. Your friend just died, by your own admission, and I don't see you ranting and raving about it!"

"That's because I've a job to do! As do you; something your bleeding heart seems to have forgotten."

"Well then." Tonks stopped in her tracks, her muscles tense. "When you finish with your little rundown of the manor, and find nothing, maybe then you'll learn to loosen up a little. As it is, you're worse than Mad-Eye."

"And here I am, whole, with all of my body parts intact! Wonder why that is." Podmore wasn't of a kinship with the legendary ex-Auror, in spite of their many similarities.

"How dare you!" Tonks was practically radiating anger at the slight against her mentor. Moody had been her trainer as she prepared for the auror exams. Without the grizzled wizard, she wouldn't be there today. "You may not have lost anything, but you're far from whole, Podmore."

She turned to give a stunned Flitwick the barest nod of farewell before turning on the spot to apparate, but not before firing a parting shot. "And as for why you're still in one piece? It's not because you're smarter or more paranoid." She glared directly into the eyes of her partner who didn't look away in spite of the knot in his stomach.

"It's because you're a bloody coward."

The crack of her disapparation was far louder than usual, after which it left an unpleasant silence in the clearing. For a while, neither remaining wizard looked at the other. One feeling struck, the other, contemplative.

The rain had stopped falling and the birds could be heard once more. The clouds, however, lingered. Ominous and threatening. At long last, someone broke the quiet.

"Fear can be a funny thing, you know?" Flitwick didn't look at Podmore. Rather, he remained staring intently at the spot where Tonks had been. "It can take many forms, always adapting to us as individuals. It's rather like love, in that sense."

Podmore turned to stare at the man who had once been an idol of his. A lifetime ago.

"But, unlike love, fear is ultimately boiled down to one of two things. Always the two, never more. Do you know what I speak of?" Silence greeted him, so the professor continued. "Fear is either an incredible detriment or a powerful motivator. It can even, often, be both, but never anything less...

"...fear of death, for example."

"I don't fear death. At least, not anymore."

This time he did turn to look at his former student and what he saw there was unmistakable shame. The auror had pushed his partner too hard, he knew it, and the witch had in turn thrown the man's past back in his face. Flitwick almost pitied the younger wizard. For all his age and experience, Podmore remained, as ever, the foolish boy he had once taught.

"Not anymore," Flitwick nodded. They were both aware of the man's past inaction. A sin few failed to let him forget. Neither needed to bring it up further. "But that doesn't mean you're not afraid."

Podmore's head snapped around once again, an anger in his eyes yet unseen. "Listen here-"

Flitwick tittered in disappointment, looking at him as he would a schoolboy. "So quickly, you forget my words. Fear takes 'many forms', Mr. Podmore. Just because you don't fear death, doesn't mean you're not acting on it. In one way or another, we all commit many an action - or inaction - based on fear. Perhaps even on a daily basis."

Podmore's anger leveled as he listened, gritting his teeth as he did so. "So I'm afraid, am I?"

Flitwick nodded. "Only now, you fear failure. You're afraid of letting your friend down, the man who stood by you when no one would. You fear being unable to repay that debt. You likely also fear the possibility of this being the start of something horrendous, a fear that's crossed both of our minds, I assure you. And now… now you're channeling all that fear into this case, onto your innocent partner, and even onto young Mr. Potter."

The two men locked eyes, but it was the auror who turned away first. "And Tonks?"

"Well, I should think it would be clear as day, Sturgis."

Podmore waited with bated breath for the Professor to continue, but nothing else came. When the part goblin began to walk away, words of wisdom in tow, frustration returned to angry auror. "Well?! Spell it out for me then!"

Flitwick turned to give his former student a somber look.

"She's afraid of the same things you are."

Podmore went rigid. Flitwick turned on his heel and disapparated with a crack, but not before mimicking Tonks and leaving a parting shot.

"Best leave Mr. Potter alone, Mr. Podmore. Whatever fear you've overcome of death, I dare say it'd be tested around the boy. Death seems to follow him more than most."

Then the man was gone. Once again, the frustrated auror found himself alone. Abandoned, left to his anger and shame.

* * *

That night, two women found themselves waiting with bated breath in the entrance hall of Bones Manor. It had just turned eight, which meant their guest would be arriving any second now. There was a strange, almost morbid sense of anticipation in the air.

Amelia resisted a smirk at her niece's expense, noticing the way the teenager fidgeted with the hem of her blouse. Susan had chosen to dress muggle that night, with a black blouse and form fitting dark jeans. Appropriate colors, considering, but still a little non-traditional for Amelia's tastes, who wore a casual, black dress robe. She too was grieving the loss of her friend, after all. The floo turned green, and the two Bones women tensed before a head appeared in the flames. A head of blonde hair...

"Han?!" Susan all but screamed in surprise. Her aunt wasn't coping much better, raising an eyebrow at the now blushing Hannah Abbott. "What're you doing? I told you not to call until later tonight!"

"I-I know, I just wanted to see if he'd come through, is all."

Susan nearly burst a blood vessel in exasperation. "Well he can't come through the floo if we're stuck here talking to you, now can he?"

Her friend opened her mouth a few times, aware of the mounting annoyance in Madame Bones eyes. "Oops?" Hannah finally managed to squeak out.

"If you don't mind, Ms. Abbott."

"Of course, Madame Bones! Apologies." Hannah turned to leave and the two Bones women let out twin sighs, but before the fire went out, Hannah had returned. "You know, since I'm here already, I might as well just come through, eh?"

Susan's eye bulged out of her head but before she could utter a word, her Aunt had already stepped forward, a look of armageddon on her face.

"MS. ABBOTT!"

"ByeSueloveyoutalklateryeah!?" Hannah Abbott disappeared with her tail between her legs and the green furnace flames mellowed out, signifying the dropped floo call.

Susan stared at the place her best friend's had been with an incredulous expression. Hannah was never this dense, which had Susan wondering why she'd been so insistent on coming through. She'd already told her no when they'd spoken earlier. At least she had finally hung up. Let it be known, Amelia Bones was scary when annoyed. Speaking of which, her aunt now turned to her for an explanation.

"Aha-ha… she's a laugh, isn't she?" Her aunt's expression remained. "I mean, erm, what a daft nutter? Glad I don't associate with her!"

Before her aunt could dig into her, Susan was saved by the arrival of their guest. Except, not through the floo, like they'd been expecting. Instead, a knock came from the door, causing both women to look at each other before Amelia waved her wand and the door opened.

Two drenched individuals stood in the doorway which was odd, Amelia thought, considering it wasn't raining outside.

"Wotcher!" Auror Tonks walked in like she owned the place, shaking her head dry, causing Amelia to roll her eyes at her youngest and most - colorful - employee. "Sorry we're late. This one seemed opposed to using the floo."

The auror sent a rather strange, searching look at the person behind her before moving aside, allowing both Bones women to greet their new guest.

Harry Potter was tall. That was the first thing Amelia noticed about the person who stood in their doorway, so closely resembling a young James Potter, with his lean build and broad shoulders and even his father's poor eyesight. But almost instantly after, she noticed his eyes. His mother's eyes, if she recalled. It had been years since she had seen either of them - seven years in fact.

' _Not since the funeral._ '

She recalled the boy hadn't cried then, much like his father, and had found it odd if a little sad. As she drank him in, standing in the doorway with his hands running through his damp hair in a fruitless attempt to dry it - looking more akin to a man than a boy, despite hardly being fifteen - she noticed he wasn't crying now either.

"Potter's are built strong," James had once boasted in her office, barking a laugh not unlike his dear friend Sirius.

' _Indeed_ ,' Amelia agreed sadly, even as she approached his son with a warm smile and outstretched arms.

"Mr. Potter." The boy turned from passively taking in their entrance hall to pierce her with those eyes, a neutral look on his face. "It's an honor to finally meet you again after all these years. I'm- I'm so truly sorry for your loss…" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Susan turn to her. She didn't normally stutter. "Your father was a great man and a friend… He only spoke the world of you. It's a sin that we should meet under these circumstances, but if there's anything you need..." She trailed off, not knowing what else to say. She hadn't thought this through, in her haste to provide something for the son of her Head Auror.

Thankfully, the boy spared her any further awkwardness, not allowing the silence to linger.

"Thank you, Madame Bones." He didn't smile, but his face was warm and his nod polite. "Thank you for having me while the investigation gets underway at the manor. My father only ever spoke well of you."

"Oh, I doubt that very much," she replied, a smile of thanks making its way to her face. She knew James well enough to acknowledge they'd butted heads before. The man was a Gryffindor and a Potter, a dangerously stubborn combination.

Her reply brought something of a smile to the boys face, before he turned to the other woman in the hall. Susan had been standing to the side, patiently waiting for her turn to greet her classmate and express her condolences. When he looked at her, however, she froze up for a fraction of a second.

"I take it you're already acquainted with my niece, Susan." Amelia seemed to read her niece's nerves and did her best to direct the flow of conversation for her.

"My condolences," Susan said, dipping her head in honest sympathy. She had long since lost her parents, Amelia being the substitute for her mother and father, but she couldn't imagine losing her aunt. Especially not in such a horrible way.

"Thank you… Ms. Bones," Harry dipped his head in greeting, not knowing how to accept her sympathies.

' _Ms. Bones._ ' He always called her that at school. Never 'Susan'. Hannah thought it was cute. She found it a little aggravating.

"Mr. Potter," came her quippy reply before she winced, finding it to be a little too flirtatious given the circumstances. "I mean, uhm, Harry." Her classmates brows knit together every so slightly at the familiarity. "And you can call me Susan, of course. Seeing as you'll be staying with us for who knows how long, I figure it best we get the formalities out of the way, eh?" She hoped she didn't sound too eager, but after a moment's pause, he nodded in agreement.

"Deal?" she pressed. Her aunt shot her a warning look, but Harry's modest but reassuring smile made it melt away.

"Deal," he said.

Pleased with what she thought was a successful welcoming, Susan took the initiative and invited him along for a quick tour of the manor, to which the rain soaked teen agreed after bidding thanks and adieu to her aunt and the strange auror who'd escorted him, respectively. She recognized the older Hufflepuff alumni who had graduated when she'd been in her third year at Hogwarts. Susan couldn't help but notice the way the 'Tonks' girl gave a parting hug to Harry, her gaze lingering on his back as they ascended the stairs to the upper floor. ' _Perhaps the two knew each other_ ', she thought, but it regardless made her feel something… foreign towards the pretty older witch.

Susan tried to focus on the layout of the second floor as she guided Harry along, and not on the way his damp but still untamable hair clung to his face, his cheeks flushed from what she assumed was apparition. Or the way his green eyes seemed to follow her every step, nodding along at the various anecdotes she provided for each room and hall. She worried she was talking too much, was coming off too calloused to the emotional exhaustion he may be feeling despite her intent merely to make him feel comfortable, but his smiles - while incredibly slight and never reaching his eyes - were nonetheless reassuring. He never spoke, but he didn't seem annoyed either, and Susan Bones took that as a win.

* * *

"We need to talk."

The two ministry workers had watched the pair of teenagers ascend the stairs and walk out of earshot before turning to one another.

"Oh?" Amelia raised her a well manicured brow at the younger witch. "And would this have anything to do with why you arrived via apparition instead of floo, like we'd agreed?

Tonks frowned at the slight, but took it in stride. "It does, actually."

Now it was Amelia's turn to frown. She liked Tonks. She was… bubbly. But there was a hint of apprehension in the young aurors voice that she hadn't heard before. "I think it best we retreat to my study."

Following her boss down several hallways, Tonks took in the mahogany tones of the large manor, the various portraits of Bones' wizards and witches dating back several hundred years, almost all of whom seemed to hold some position of office in the Ministry. Not for the first time, Tonks was reminded that the headstrong witch she worked for and even idolized nonetheless came from a pureblood family, and an ambitious one at that.

Entering the study, Amelia immediately went to the corner table and poured them both a tumblr of firewhiskey. Surprised, but thankful, the young auror took half the drink in one go, causing the Head of the DMLE to blink behind her monocle.

"Rough day," she commented. The two stared at one another, and despite their circumstances, laughed aloud at the understatement. Tonks liked the woman's ability to shake things up with her subordinates. Not to the extent of James Potter, of course, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

Thoughts of her former superior brought her back to why she was here now, and worms ate at her stomach.

"Did you encounter Podmore again?"

Tonks shook her head in the negative. She had updated Amelia after her meeting with Harry that morning, briefing her on everything - the investigation, Flitwick, and even her row with her iron-willed partner. Amelia had assured her that it would blow over and that she wouldn't say a word of it to Podmore, Tonks not wanting to be considered a tattle.

"Then what is it? Tonks?"

"I feel it would be remiss of my duties not to mention it… But it's probably nothing, I'm certain, and Harry is… he's good, and kind, and he's just lost his father-"

Amelia grew weary of the girls stuttering. "Stop skirting the subject, Auror Tonks, and spit it out."

Tonks steeled herself, her bubblegum pink hair darkening at the ends. "When I arrived to pick Harry up tonight, to take him here, he wasn't home."

This wasn't what Amelia had been expecting, but she wasn't quite seeing the problem.

"Not home as in… out and about the property? Emotionally not present, or-"

"Not home as in not there. Not in Snowdon."

Amelia sat forward in her chair. "Explain." Her tone was clipped. "Where was he?"

* * *

"Well, here you are."

Susan had led Harry to the guest room in the upper east wing of the manor, all the way down the hall from her own. Her aunt had been very adamant on that fact for some reason. It was a modest room, with a full sized bed, a desk and chair, a vanity, and wardrobe. Nonetheless, it was more than enough for the boy who had brought but a single trunk with him.

She watched his reaction closely, curious whether the Potter (and Black, if rumors were to be believed) heir was used to finer accommodations. If he was, his face didn't betray it as he set his trunk down at the foot of the bed and walked further into admire the view from the desk. It overlooked the back garden and the hillside beyond.

"It's perfect."

Harry turned to her with a thankful look and Susan felt her cheeks flush as the light from the lantern hit him just right. He stepped back across the room, returning to her side in but two strides of his long legs. He towered over her by half a head, and Susan was considered tall for a witch her age, standing at 167 centimeters. She fought to keep her breathing steady as he stood within her personal space, the scent of his damp hair displaying whatever shampoo he used.

' _Mint_ ,' she placed.

"I'm sorry," he said. It broke Susan from her wandering thoughts.

"Huh?" came her eloquent reply, before she pursed her lips in frustration. She was normally so composed, so in-control. She didn't become the unspoken leader of the underclassmen of Hufflepuff by being meek and indecisive, so why was she reacting to him this way?

"For intruding in your home," Harry elaborated, seemingly unaware of her internal conflict.

"What? N-no! Not at all. It's the least we can do, really. My aunt was your, erm, father's boss and friend, after all…"

The topic of his father, the first mention of him since their tour, soured the mood for Susan. She couldn't believe she was being so irrational and air headed - like that Lavender girl in Gryffindor - when standing in front of her was a peer - an acquaintance, if not necessarily a friend - who was grieving for his father who'd died barely a day prior.

Susan gathered her courage and took the plunge. "If anything, I'm the one who should be apologizing." Harry raised a curious brow but otherwise remained quiet, as though bidding her to go on. "I've been jabbering on nonstop tonight. Nerves, you know? Mind you, I - I wanted to be as welcoming as possible, but I fear I've just come off as dense and unempathetic. Vapid! I-I can't imagine what you're going through, and maybe, if I'm lucky, I never will."

She caught herself and immediately back pedalled, not daring to look at what she was sure was a furious face.

"I mean, that's not what I meant. I… ugh... I'm sorry I'm so shite at this."

She exhaled noisily, feeling the burning of frustrated tears in her eyes. She had royally screwed up by opening her mouth, she knew it. With her head hung, the silence dragged on until she could stand it no longer and chanced a look up. What she saw made her pause.

Harry Potter was smiling at her.

It was a small, almost imperceptible smile, but an honest one. She knew it in her bones. Perhaps his first honest emotion of the night, she slowly realized.

It was a nice smile, she thought. 'It suits him perfectly.'

"I-"

"Thank you, Susan." He cut her off, his gentle smile slowly disappearing back to its pleasant but - she now knew - hollow neutrality, but his eyes still shone with his gratitude. "You've been fantastic."

Her face felt hotter than a furnace and she caught her reflection in the vanity to see her skin had turned bright pink in the lantern light. She mumbled a quick farewell and all but ran out of the room, shouting an apology for accidentally slamming the door in her haste.

A soft chuckle came from the room, and then utter silence.

* * *

"So you caught him outside? What was he doing?"

Tonks blew a strand of her hair out of her face. "I haven't the faintest, Madame. He didn't seem to have anything on him. His things were already packed and waiting for him inside the manor, which, far as I could tell, hadn't been touched."

"You're sure he wasn't just decompressing outside?" Amelia pressed.

"No ma'am. My standard persons search spell didn't locate him anywhere on the property when I couldn't find him initially. That and I could have sworn I heard the crack of apparition, except, well, it was more like a whisper."

Amelia looked skeptical. "Apparition at the age of fifteen is unheard of, if not due to a teenagers fluxing magic, then due to the laws against use of underage magic."

"Well," and here Tonks bit her lip, worried she might go too far. Worried she was becoming like Podmore. "...his father was the Head Auror, one of the few individuals capable of removing the spell from a students wand…"

She gulped at the look her boss leveled at her. "Tread carefully, Auror Tonks. That's not a mild accusation."

"I know!" exclaimed Tonks. "I look up to that man like a hero! _Looked_.." she corrected herself, past tense, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. "He was everything I aspired to be. Everything that daft Longbottom isn't and he was all that was left of Uncle Sirius; he and Harry.. But even I know James was cautious. And he bent the rules. Maybe, after what happened with his wife he felt the need to ensure his son was ready for anything."

"A stretch, Auror Tonks." Amelia finished half of her tumblr before refilling it. "James led the coalition against purebloods taking advantage of the system and allowing their children to use magic outside of school. Said it was for Lily, who you might recall, was a muggleborn. Catch my drift?"

Tonks did. James was a man of conviction. He wouldn't be a hypocrite over something so important to his deceased wife. But still…

"Well then, something just doesn't add up."

Amelia sighed into her glass. "I take it when you found him outside, it was raining?"

Tonks blinked at the random question. "Yeah. How'd you-"

"It's not raining here, is it?" Her question was rhetorical but had her underling blushing in embarrassment. "Is it possible, Auror Tonks, that you're a bit rattled after the trying events of the day and you may have - just possibly - mistaken something in your… observations?"

Amelia looked pointedly at the window where not a single drop of rain had fallen and Tonks caught her meaning and frowned mildly. Her boss was more or less questioning her capability or talents or…

' _Not that, but something like that_ ,' she thought morosely. And what's more, she now felt her boss was right.

"I-I think so, Madame Bones… I'm sorry."

The older witch frowned at the metamorphmagus. "Nonsense. You're a good auror, Tonks. One of the best I've seen in the recent flocks, and merlin knows they're getting smaller." She stood whilst downing her whiskey, steam pouring slightly from her ears, and let loose a rare, crooked smile at the younger witch. "Stand tall, chin up."

Tonks did just that, downing her drink as well. "Yes ma'am."

"I'm going to need someone like you, Tonks. Someone empathetic yet diligent. Someone unafraid of upsetting me by telling me the truth."

Tonks could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, wondering - daring to hope - that this was what she thought it was.

"I've a special task for you."

Tonks smile was absolutely radiant, her woes momentarily forgotten as she looked her superior straight in the eyes. "Yes. Ma'am."

* * *

Not twenty meters from where the two witches stood, Harry Potter sat criss-cross on his bed and lowered his wand from his ear with a frown. He had almost been caught. He'd known as much with the way Tonks had looked at him outside of Potter Manor, standing there in the pouring rain; worried, ever-kind, but also suspicious. He had played it off well enough, he felt, saying he'd just needed some air. He knew she hadn't fully believed him even then, and now he knew why.

' _A person-tracking spell? Confided to the area, it seems, but still dead useful,_ ' he mused, mentally adding the spell to the laundry list he'd long been compiling to learn. As he learned a spell, it always seemed like five more took its place.

' _Too much knowledge, not enough time_. _Flitwick would be proud._ '

He was glad Madame Bones had dismissed his friends (at least, he thought he and Tonks were friends) suspicions, but it still ate at him a bit. He'd counted on their relationship to keep her from pursuing her doubts. It appeared her soft spot for him had hardened somewhat since her graduation two years ago. That was to be expected, of course. She went through intensive auror training to finetune such sentimentality, and two years is a long time and a lot can change.

' _Some things change in a day._ ' An image of his father flashed in his mind's eye.

With that mere thought, the flood gates began to open but he clenched his fists tight and, with a determination that would bend steel, he clamped down on his raging emotions. He didn't have the time for it, not now. The tears would come later, he promised himself. But not before business was done.

He made sure the door was securely locked, cast a rudimentary silencing and detection ward around his bed, careful not to push too far and meddle with the wards already in place within the manor, before setting about said 'business'. Wandlessly levitating a unmarked book from his trunk - one of many lying in what was his father's old multi-compartment trunk - he took a deep, settling breath before opening the first page.

' _ **The Dark Arts**_ ' _by Cepheus Black_

' _Indeed... A_ lot _can change in a day_ ,' Harry amended bitterly, but there was a resolve in his heart that burned away his self loathing for what he was about to do. A resolve that thankfully had come to him when he had nothing left, a light in the darkness that he'd clung to with both hands.

* * *

 **Earlier that day…**

He had nothing left. He had screamed and screamed until his throat had nearly cracked, and then he'd screamed some more. Tears fell in anger and despair, each one burning with shame at his inability to do anything other than cry.

The room he had been in - the master bedroom, oddly enough, as his father cared not for where he slept and it allowed Harry an unrivaled view of the woods and mountain range behind their home - was completely destroyed. His magic had flared so violently that what could only be a tornado of pure force had ripped its way through the loft, shattering the large floor-to-ceiling windows facing the forest and turning the furniture into so much firewood. Even that had been but a fraction of the anger and pain he felt he needed to get out - had to get out - or he'd implode. The harder he fought to keep it in, however, the faster a dull ache began to settle over him. A feeling of unfeeling. Even as his wild magic began to freeze parts of the room around him, his breathe coming out in gasps, his mind was elsewhere.

He had nothing left, he repeated to himself. Friends were nice and he grudgingly admitted that he had some of the best a person could ask for, but that wasn't hardly enough. They all had families of their own, and they all came from a world of sunshine and happiness that he could barely remember the taste of. Even those who'd lost family in the previous war were different. They didn't see death. They weren't like him. They couldn't understand. Only family could understand and now…

Sirius was gone. His mother was gone. His grandparents, all four of them, gone before he was even born. Now his father, his last remaining family member and - despite everything they'd been through - his best friend… was gone. He, Harry, stood there, the last of the Potters.

He was completely and utterly alone.

The thought brought his overactive mind to grinding halt and for several hours, nothing else mattered. He stood there, in a wrecked room in an empty home, and waited for life to pass by. He could have stayed there forever, he felt. Detached from everything.

But life had other plans.

On the outskirts of the woods, just as the sun began to dawn, as oddly red and angry as it had been the morning before, a creature walked into the clearing. The motion caught Harry's otherwise comatose eyes and for the briefest moment they shifted and that was all it took to seal his fate.

There, as though from a dream, stood a white stag.

It was tall, taller than the tallest man Harry had ever seen and then some, it's antlers thick and spreading wide in a garden of horns. It chest was broad, its coat pure, snow white; unmarked by the nature it undoubtedly galloped through at top speeds. Its eyes were of the blackest night.

And they stared at him.

And he stared back.

And he knew what he had to do.

With the slightest nod, the ethereal stag returned to the wilderness from which it came. At the center of his soul, Harry was unsure if the ghost-like stag had been a real, mere apparition of his cracked psyche, or a spiritual manifestation of his father. He didn't rightly care either, because in that moment, he made a choice.

' _Avenge me._ '

He had something to live for now.

And with that choice, the pain came flooding back. The memories. The hurt. But this time he harnessed it, forced it deep down, a motivation for what he was about to do.

He cast his second spell of the day, another tempus, and saw it was half past five. The aurors would be there soon, he had no doubt. In the meantime, he had his work cut out for him. A quick glance around his destroyed room told him where he was going to have to start.

After repairing his room exactly how it had been, Harry made his way down to his father's study, foregoing his personal chambers altogether. The man hardly ever slept in a bed these days, often falling asleep at his desk in his study, on the couch after a long day at work, or in the cots that the DMLE provided for overnight workers.

Upon entering the messy study, Harry had to take a breath as a sharp pain bloomed in his chest. The floor was covered in a rich red carpet - the only one in the entire manor not covered by marble or hardwood floors - upon which sat several black bookshelves lining the three walls, a large brick furnace in the corner, and a great oak desk facing the only window (another floor to ceiling design) in the room.

He could see it now, the image of his father, back to the door, hunched over his notes obsessively, a tumblr of whiskey to the left of him, a photo of his mother to the right. It hurt to look at the room now, knowing he'd never see that scene again.

' _Focus, Harry._ '

Herculean will brought his emotions to heel, and Harry made his way to the oak desk. He fiddled with the drawers for a moment before something gave way, revealing the rather muggle hidden compartment in the desk. His father had gotten the idea from his Uncle Remus in their time as school; a means by which to keep something of worth from being found or summoned. Place anti-summoning charms on it and instead use a hidden compartment in plain view, void of any sort of magical activation. It had worked against Filch in their fifth year and it would have worked now if Harry hadn't spent all manner of time spying on his father when he was younger.

Inside the compartment lay one book - a thin one, no less - but it was worth more than its weight in gold. His father's private journal. In it, he knew, was all the information he'd gathered over the years on his hunt for Dolohov. The very thought of the man who killed his mother clouded Harry's face in anger. The man was behind his father's death now, too. If not directly, by some chance, then indirectly. Either way, he was a dead man walking, as far as Harry was concerned.

He would succeed where his father failed.

The journal also contained other miscellaneous notes and theories, many of which Harry vowed to pursue as well in his father's name. All Death Eaters, and those like them, were what his parents ultimately gave their lives fighting. Now it was his turn.

He marvelled, briefly, that he felt no fear at the prospect of coming face to face with known murderers and worse. Nor anticipation, aside from Dolohov and whoever else was behind his parents deaths. Instead it was more of an acceptance; as though a part of him had always known this was going to be his path in life.

He knew it had to do with more than just his father's intensive training. James Potter had changed entirely after Harry's mother had died, the old James dying alongside her. From his ashes, a stoic, quiet, hyper-focused avenger was born. An obsessed man.

A mad man.

He had drilled his son with every bit of information he could to ensure the same fate didn't befall her sole legacy. Trained him relentlessly, to the point of sweat and blood, though not tears. Never tears. When the trainings became easier, however, it had been Harry who had pushed for more, absorbing everything given to him like a sponge. His father, cold as he had been, couldn't bring himself to remove his sons childhood entirely. Lily would never forgive him. But Harry had fought for it.

"You're not the only one with nightmares," he'd told his father.

That had been enough to settle things. For better or worse, his father had molded him into a fighter - one who could honestly give most aurors a run for their money if his duels with his old man were anything to go on.

But it wasn't enough, he knew. He always lost to his father, who held no punches. His father who, despite being the best duelist in the Order and likely all of England, had still fallen. Still died. And he didn't know how or why, but what he did know was when he found those responsible, he was going to have to be ready. Have to be even better.

' _They'd never forgive me if I went and got myself killed the first chance I got,_ ' he mused morbidly at reuniting with his parents somewhere in the afterlife.

With that in mind, he went about pursuing his father's library; the Potter library. While most of it was rather mundane reading, a lot of it on basic theory of common spells and magics, and even more on familial histories, some of it was impressive stuff he'd happened upon in the past but had been dissuaded from pursuing too early. In the end, however, he picked out what he thought were the essentials: a book on advanced charms theory by Charlus Potter, a thorough account of famed Rickard Potter's life and duels, including various tactics and even spell chains he'd used, and lastly, a thick tome by Arturius Potter regarding Harry's favorite branch of transfiguration: conjuration.

He duplicated the books using the gemino spell, after undoing the anti-copying spell already in place on the Potter tomes - being the last Potter and all - and replaced them, including his father's journal, with the original held reverently in his arms. He left the study exactly as he found it, without a single backwards glance.

* * *

Not long after stowing the books away in his trunk - inherited by his father as it was a hell of a trunk - the aurors had arrived. Later than expected, but they made up for it by the surprising accompaniment of his beloved Ravenclaw Head of House, Professor Flitwick.

It had been difficult, to say the least. He'd tried to keep his emotions level and calm as he was told the news. He'd been going around all morning, not knowing what had befallen his father, but now he knew. His assumptions - calculated and based in logic - had been correct. His father was dead, murdered by dark wizards. It had never been a doubt of his. His father was a powerful man, and wouldn't ever die by anything less than spellfire. Hearing the truth, however, full of detail and…

He'd had to usher them out soon after, lest he explode once again and injure his guests - his father's friends and peers. He had managed to secure himself a bit of time. Part of it was honestly to process, as he'd told them. He'd never been to Wick, Hogwarts being the furthest north he'd travelled in Scotland, but he would be paying the seaside town and its nearby beach a visit in the near future.

Harry tried not to imagine the scene the aurors had described for him. They'd been gentle about it, Tonks had made sure of that - and seeing her had almost brought a smile to his face. She was, after all, his first crush - but there was only so much one could allude to before the brain pieced things together in vivid imagery.

'The fiends,' he muttered into the silence of the entrance hall. The last time he'd encountered such a level of dark magic it had consumed and killed his mother when he was seven. Now another one had been used, this time by his father, and to unknown effect, nonetheless playing some part in another parents death.

He was almost tempted to return the books he'd taken from the study, the theory and tactics paling in comparison to the terrifying power of such dark magic, but his senses won out. It was the basics, after all, that decided a fight.

"Not the spells," his father had said. "The knowledge behind the spells. See, if you can master magic, you won't need 'spells', will you?"

The lesson had stuck with him, but it did little to lessen his worry. He needed more, and time was ticking before Tonks returned.

Then it clicked. Tonks. A distant relative. Sirius.

With nary a moment's hesitation he had apparated to Grimmauld Place. The wards welcomed him, being the last make Black. His deceased godfather had long disowned all other relatives when he'd taken the mantle as Head of House, including one Draco Malfoy. When he reached adulthood, Harry was burdened with not one, but two Houses to lead.

Two houses of which he was the sole member…

' _It comes in waves,_ ' he told himself, once again forcing the pain down. ' _It's just waves, and you_ _will_ _weather them._ '

The house was silent. He paid the abundant cobwebs little mind as he made his way to the family library. While the home had been cleaned up thoroughly of dark artifacts and elf heads and a great many other things when Sirius had been alive, it had since fallen into decay. There were no longer any elves bound to the ancestral home and no one left to tend to its upkeep. Harry promised to amend that in time.

It was used now merely as a safehouse for the few who knew of its location, less than a handful, including his sole remaining uncle, Remus. The man was distant, far more so than his best friend had been, but it came with the territory; being a werewolf, as well as losing all your friends save one - the same one who had, at one point, assumed you were a spy. The two had patched things up shortly before Sirius' death, but not long after, Harry's mother had been killed and neither man was the same after that.

Remus still sent letters, and a yearly christmas card from wherever it was he was working. Werewolves had to travel far to proper employment, in spite of James' and a few others efforts. Harry briefly wondered how the man would react upon returning home to find his last true friend dead. He only hoped he wouldn't be the one to tell him.

On his way to the library, however, he stopped to stare at a portrait watching him intently. It was a man he'd seen before, in the Headmistress's Office in Hogwarts.

Phineas Nigellus Black. Former Head of House Black, as well as Hogwarts Headmaster.

"Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Potter."

"You remember me?" Harry had been in Headmistress McGonagall's office, several times, but it still surprised him that the stoic portrait recognized him.

"Oh yes," The bearded man said, his eyes beady coals glimmering in the canvas. "Yes indeed. You are a special case, Mr. Potter. Unlike your father and his… wife."

Harry's wand was in his hand in the blink of an eye. "Don't. Do that."

The silence stretched on without Harry lowering his wand, which had begun to glow a smoky red. Phineus raised a bushy brow, but nonetheless made no further move to insult Harry's muggleborn mother. His opinion was well known. "Yes indeed," he muttered. "A _special_ case. Tell me, boy," Harry bristled at the way the man - portrait of a man - said the word. It rubbed him the wrong way. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be at home, grieving?"

Harry was caught flat-footed for the second time in just as many minutes. "You know?"

"Of course. Word travels, and 'the Headmistress mus-"

"'-must be informed whenever a student loses his or her parents or guardian in a fashion that leaves them bereft of constitution or home.' Of course," Harry effortlessly recited the passage from the guidebook section of Hogwarts: A History.

Phineus seemed unperturbed at being interrupted. "Well?"

"How do I know what I say to you will remain between us?" Harry eyed the portrait with clear suspicion.

"You don't." Harry turned without a second's hesitation, continuing down the hall to the library. He didn't have time for games. "But…" Harry stopped and turned to the portrait. "...you mayhaps could intrigue me enough where I might be willing to keep your secrets..."

"You won't tell McGonagall, or anyone else?" Harry asked, skeptical, but still walked back towards the portrait.

"Intrigue me," intoned the former Headmaster once more.

Harry recognized it for the challenge that it was, and the Ravenclaw student took a Gryffindor gamble and explained everything. Phineus sat, silent, listening, oddly entranced.

"Revenge," summarized Phineus. "That's all you had to say, boy, though your notary skills are impressive." Harry bristled at the casual dismission. "Nonetheless, revenge is something seen time and time again. Within my own family, no less. Nothing new there, I supposed, though your story does have a certain… _tragedy_ to it."

Phineus let the boy ponder on his words a moment longer, as though he took joy in seeing the anger and the frustration wearing away at the wizard before continuing.

"I'm intrigued," he admitted at long last. "I help you now, however, by keeping your secrets. Beyond that, I offer nothing. Now, begone."

Harry let out a breath of relief he didn't know he'd been holding. The man was bigoted, mocking, belittling, and downright infuriating after death. He would have hated to meet him in life. He turned away, satisfied that at least the man would keep his privacy, but turned again after a few paces.

"No," Harry said.

"Beg pardon?" Phineus saw the look in the boys eyes and almost smiled. "What do you mean, no?"

"No, that's not all. I can't do this alone, I'll fail. I'll die. You know that. I am also the last of your line, half-blood or not, and you won't let the 'great House of Black' fade into oblivion. No… you're going to help me, Headmaster. One way or another?"

Phineus fixed Harry with a glare that no doubt sent students fleeing in his day. "I don't take kindly to threats, _boy_. You're far too presumptuous."

"It's not a threat", Harry amended. "And I'm not presumptuous. I'm _intriguing_ , remember?"

Obsidian black met emerald green. Seconds passed. Harry began to sweat. Tonks would be returning shortly. He had to move on. Now.

"Very well. Ask me one question, heir, and I shall answer it."

It was Harry's turn to raise a brow now. "One?"

"One."

The finality was clear. The pressure on. He had wanted to ask a great many things from the man who had the mind of a Headmaster of Hogwarts. What books in the Black Library were worth pursuing. What branch of magic leant itself best to combat against multiple enemies. What did his wandless abilities mean and why did he have them when no one else did?

How was he going to do this?

The last one being the main question he asked himself, with no answer other than he had to and that was that. Minutes ticked by, with all of Harry's intellect searching for the right question to ask. Finally something stuck out to him. It was an odd question, but one that had plagued him since he'd first heard the name uttered by a drunken James Potter.

And again when he'd seen it whilst skimming his father's journal that day. Several times it had been written, and each time, crossed out.

He would figure out everything else on his own if he had to, he decided, for he was drawn to this particularly mystery for reasons he couldn't explain.

It came to him as _a dream from darkness_.

"Who is Tom Riddle?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'll admit that I'm not a huge fan of authors notes these days. The benefits of interacting and communicating with ones readership, limited though it is, are abundantly clear to me. However, it's a slippery slope to manage. You don't want to simply explain away everything the reader happened to overlook or misunderstood at the risk of spoiling the story or pandering to the lowest denominator. And trust me, it is sooooo tempting to do just that at times.

Fanfiction readers - a large portion if perhaps not quite the majority - tend to focus on what they want from a story early on, and if those factors are not immediately present or alluded to, they'll drop the story or rag on it until its included/removed, etc. Instead of, you know, waiting for events to actually play out, scenarios to unfold, characters to develop... essentially not allowing the story to actually STORY! Aha. I get it. We live in an impatient world and readers don't want to invest their time in something they may end up not liking in the end. I get into the same mind set sometimes, unfortunately. That being said, the expectancy for all the cards to be laid out on the table from the get go - the sheer entitlement to immediate gratification - it does rub one the wrong way and can lead to retalitory authors notes that compromise the integrity of the story. That can be tricky.

Authors notes can also degenerate into name-calling in response to reviews or flames. Or, potentially worse, they can become little 'sketch segments' wherein the author adopts several personalities from fiction and essentially do this weird... thing? I don't know how to describe it, but I'm sure many of you know what I'm talking about. Essentially, anything that doesn't contribute to the core story is what I'd consider a waste of an authors notes.

Including dragged out rants, am I right? ^ I'm not above being self aware on occasion. With that being said, I will likely have authors notes from time to time, hypocritical though it may seem. I'll do my best to keep it strictly story related and not a platform for cheap spoilers, teasers, or retalitory pettiness.

 **First off, for the future, this will feature a very different Triwizard Tournament and a 'original' secret society that I teased in the summary. The Tournament will diverge significantly from canon, as this is an extreme AU, and the secret society will make its debut in 'Book Two' of this planned trilogy, though hints will be dropped on occasion. That's the most I can say without real spoilers, but I didn't want anyone to think I wasn't planning to deliver on my summary at some point. Just bare with the story for now, it's admittedly a slow burn.**

 **As for the story at large, note that some of the characters - such as Krum, Delacour, Diggory - will be a year younger than in canon, as this story takes place in the summer before Harry's fifth year.** **Similar to some of the triwizard characters, I have also changed Tonks' age from canon, to the point where she is only four years older than Harry and friends. Meaning she graduated at the end of his third year, went through auror training during his fourth year, and is now a rookie right before his fifth year begins. I thought I had made it clear that it was an INTENTIONAL decision, as I'm well aware of Tonks' age in canon (as any fan of the lore should be), but I guess I failed to communicate that. Apologies!**

 **From now on, bare in mind any other changes are just that - intentional. I've been reading through the fanon for the better part of a decade and the series books for far longer, so changes won't be a mistake or oversight. They'll have a purpose.**

 **NONE of the major events from Harry's time at Hogwarts in canon transpired, as in no Quirrel, no Lockheart, no Dementors, etc. The reason for which should be obvious, and I don't just mean because Neville is the BWL, but I won't get ahead of myself. Suffice to say, it's been a quiet four years for Hogwarts, with the exception of a constantly rotating roster of DADA professors for various reasons.**

 **Another thing of note is that this won't be a true harem story, per se, so much as a polygamous!Harry story. Sorry to disappoint fellow Harem!Anime fans, but this isn't the time or place, as the saying goes. Romance is a fickle and complicated thing, however, and occasionally the heart wants several things at once. Even rarer still, it works out that you can have your cake and eat it, too. No promises that it won't get messy, however. Just think less Genghis Khan and more James Bond, and you'll be fine, though romance won't be the only pull in this story.**

 **Below - for those who like things spelled out to allow better gestation of this billowing, behemoth of an AU - is a brief summary of some of the changes in this world. The rest, as well as the actual details of the events transcribed below, you'll have to learn about within the story and in due time.**

 **I find it best to have an open mind going into this. If characters are different, there's a reason. This is an AU, an extreme one, after all. As for characters largely popularized in the fanon, don't expect to see them that way here. Ice Queen Daphne Greengrass, comic relief Tracey Davis, venemous and petty Weasley brood, etc. Those work great in other people's stories, no doubt, but I'm set on going a different path. It is the point of fanfiction after all.**

 **If you feel Harry is overpowered or too good at things right now, or that a supporting character comes off as one dimensional or unnecessary, or that romance is leading one way or another, all I can say is please - PLEASE - be patient. All decent things take time to build; time for events to transpire, for personas and backgrounds and motivations to be fleshed out, for the story to play out, as I mentioned before. If there is one thing I dislike about fanfiction, its that everyone expects everything they want immediately, then and there. Its... odd, as life is hardly ever so neat, but I suppose this is an escape. When you read a book, you read it all the way through and judge it as a whole, but with fanfiction - because it's released chapter by chapter - it's all about the parts. Patience is rare, as I understand we all have busy lives, and that's unfortunate. If the story doesn't have what you want, that's totally fine, but to assume its going one way a few chapters in seems like a disservice to all of us. Something I apply to all the stories I make time to read.**

 **Damn... sorry for the rant. I fell into my own hole. Aha. Any questions or curiosities, please feel encouraged to PM me if you're that vested in a response. I currently lack a 'beta' reader - a flimsy excuse, I know - so bare with any typos or mistakes in these lengthy chapters until I have time to correct them. As always, a sincere thanks to anyone who was insane enough to take the time to read all of this and even moreso to those with the passion to leave a review. I strive to constantly improve, if not at the expense of the vision for this story. Thanks to Robert for his help on this. Cheers to all.  
**

* * *

 **Summarized changes to canon in this AU:**

One decision can alter an entire universe of possibilities. Sirius Black was rightfully chosen as the Potter's secret keeper, a secret he kept utterly. The Dark Lord, frustratingly unable to locate the child he felt was the real threat to his approaching reign, instead pursued the son of the aurors' Longbottom. On Halloween, courtesy of Frank and Alice's secret keeper Peter Pettigrew, Voldemort stormed Longbottom manor to find it empty save for the one year old boy… and Albus Dumbledore. The parents were away, seeing to Alice's ailing mother. What ensued that night between the two wizards was an otherworldly duel between an unstoppable force of destruction, hell bent on killing the potential child of prophecy, and an immovable guardian, intent of protecting the boy. In their third and final fight, the two managed to kill the other, though only one truly died. The Longbottom child, Neville, was found among the wreckage of the epic duel that marked the beginning of the end of the war, and was hailed by the wizarding world as the Boy Who Lived. In the aftermath of losing their beloved leader and friend, as well as so many others, the remainder of the Light - led by James Potter - quickly and brutally shifted gears in the final days of the war, killing and ruthlessly hunting down the remainder of Voldemort's followers who were in turn actively hunting down those in their ranks who turned traitor - among them Severus Snape and Igor Karkaroff, both of whom were found killed later that winter. Few managed to bribe their way out of Azkaban upon being caught, claiming the imperius curse had taken hold of them. Their reputations were tarnished but nonetheless in-tact. Many more were killed, and some managed to elude law enforcement entirely, left to rot on the outskirts of society, in hiding, lest Potter and his men find them. Fewer still ran and fought, starting skirmishes and killing where they could. The likes of Dolohov, the Carrows, and the Lestrange's, the latter of whom reunited and - led by Bellatrix Lestrange - ambushed and killed Sirius Black six years after the war. None of the attackers lived after that night, save for Bellatrix Lestrange, who was locked away for life in Azkaban. Aside from a few such incidents, it truly was a new era of peace in wizarding britain. Many, such as the Longbottoms, thrived in the new world, eager to displace the bloody memories of war. Others yet, like the Potters, enjoyed the happiness for a while, but were never able to fully disperse the darkness, unable to forget those they'd lost or ignore those still out there who were responsible. As the years passed, murmurs began to spread. Odd tidings and black whispers; an ominous stirring not seen since before the previous war. Then, one summer morning in 1987, there was a knock on Lily Potter's door as she played with her son, Harry… and the world would never be the same.


	3. Chapter II - The House of Bones

AN: I don't own Harry Potter. All affiliated properties belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Bros, etc.

This is a DEEP AU. Any and all diversions from canon/fanon are intentional.

* * *

The stars hadn't yet faded in the early morning sky, sprinkled across the celestial blue canvas of the heavens. The moon had just begun to wander west, its cold light growing distant, casting long shadows in the sparse hillside. Tranquility was upon the waking world. In the isolation of darkness, in complete contrast to the nature around him, Harry Potter ran as a man possessed.

It had been three weeks since his arrival at Bones Manor. Three weeks since the death of his father. Three weeks since he found an all consuming purpose; the very thing that drove him to run as though the devil were chasing him. And he might as well have been, Harry felt. Because if Tom Riddle wasn't the closest thing to the devil, he didn't know what was. The information Phineas had provided him that night had been surprising, enlightening… and horrifying.

Over the course of the evening, and in spite of Harry's deadline at the time to return to Potter Manor before Tonks came to escort him, a suddenly invested Phineas had relayed more or less a summary of the entire man's life. Mountains of information, accumulated through decades of silent observation within the Headmasters Office at Hogwarts and within Grimmauld Place itself. Knowledge through three headmasters and two wizarding wars.

The picture that it all painted, fragmented that it was, frightened Harry.

The aftermath of the First Great Muggle War. A floundering magical society on the cusp of revolution. A lonely boy, abandoned and angry, with stygian ambition and unparalleled talent. A half-blood; a hypocrite, who would grow into a charming, power hungry mad-man. A patricidal, murderous fiend. A leader. A monster.

A Dark Lord.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the mystery man whose name frequented his father's journal in hastily scribbled and scratched out notes, was none other than...

" _Voldemort_ ," Harry breathed out, stopping his run momentarily, his breathing labored and his thoughts a thousand miles away. He had no reason to fear the name. The taboo behind it was long broken, even before he was born. Yet doing so in anything more than a harsh whisper felt… wrong.

It wasn't that he feared the name, per se, like many in the magical world still did long after the Dark Lord's supposed 'defeat'. His father had taught him that fear of a name only ever increased the fear of the thing itself. Apparently, it had been sage advice given to him from an old friend, but his father hadn't elaborated by whom. Regardless, the wisdom had stuck, and what Harry feared wasn't the name.

It was the man behind the name. The monster. The _wraith_.

For that's what Tom Riddle was now, if his father's proposed ramblings were to be believed. He had concluded that the Dark Lord survived death, somehow, through some twisted means. Something no other wizard could claim to have done. Not even the legendary alchemist Nicholas Flamel could claim such a feat. He merely postponed it for himself and his wife somewhat indefinitely. What his father proposed Tom Riddle had accomplished was unheard of.

Phineas had reassured Harry as much. Any other attempts to go against nature in such a way always involved the darkest of magicks; dark sacraments and black rituals. " _And sacrifice - always sacrifice,_ " Phineas had emphasized. Always they ended poorly. Such practices were how inferi were born, and ghouls, and - to a more contested extent - the first of the _balrogs_. Dark, powerful, dangerous creatures to be sure, but not sentient. Not human. One could not bring oneself back from beyond and retain any part of their old selves, nor could you have someone else do it for you. When one died, the soul was gone, and no magic could undo that.

Yet in his heart of hearts, Harry knew Tom Riddle had managed it. Moreover, that he had somehow, someway, played part in his father's death. Phineas had accused him of being naive; of clinging on childishly to the notion that his idol was unbeatable, and he was leaping to unfounded conclusions to justify a tragedy, but Harry had remained steadfast in his logic. Sure, his father wasn't likely to die by anyone or anything short of a dozen capable wizards, or several duelists on someone like Professor Flitwick's level - or one conveniently undead Dark Lord - but that was irrelevant. It came down to not who or what persons had the ability to kill his father, who was single mindedly preparing for years to eviscerate _the_ Antonin Dolohov and anything that stood in his way, but rather who had the ability and the _motive_ , to do so and then vanish without a trace.

Harry, like his father before him, didn't believe in providence and was more likely to believe that the most impressive Dark Lord in recent history somehow achieved immortality than that an infant was miraculously able to destroy said Dark Lord permanently. Harry Potter attended classes with the supposed Boy Who Lived, and while Neville Longbottom wasn't half as repulsive as the likes of Theodore Nott or Draco Malfoy, the kid was no saint. He most certainly was no specimen of magical greatness, either.

Phineas was forced to grudgingly agree with his points, and so the discussion turned once more.

" _If..." the portrait had spoken solemnly, his heavy whispers echoing off the empty walls of Grimmauld Place, "If such a thing were possible - and we're still not saying that it is - then it would have to be the foulest and most powerful of magicks. The likes of which I've never seen, and boy… I have seen much." Of that, Harry had no doubt. Phineas Black was also known for a short period as Phineas_ The _Black. As though sensing his thoughts, the beady eyes of his ancestor narrowed within the painting, continuing. "Much in my lifetime and even more beyond it. The mere thought of it..."_

 _The former Head of House Black had trailed off, lost in his dark, incomprehensible murmurs, but Harry had allowed him no moment of indulgence, pressed as he was for time. "How would I find such magic?"_

 _The portrait of his ancestor looked at him sharply, and for a moment Harry thought the man would curse him if he were able, but then a realization must have occured as the murderous look fled the man's eyes and he searched his descendant evenly. "You wish to seek a way to undo such a thing," he stated more than asked._

 _Harry's eyes bulged. He thought he'd been clear in his intentions. "Of course! Why else would I..?" The realization hit him. "Oh.. Never, no! Are you mad!?"_

 _Phineas didn't so much as shrug. "Power tempts all; old and young, foolish and wise, but none more so than the young and wise who are actually young and foolish, as one can be little else without the weight of experience." Were the circumstances not so dire, Harry would have rolled his eyes at the man who held a notorious distaste for children, curious once again how the wizard ever came to be a Headmaster for a school full of them. "You can understand my hesitancy. The power over death, if made known to a boy who's lost so much…"_

 _The portrait trailed off, but Harry didn't deign to answer his suspicions and rise to the bait. "Again, how would I find such magic… and how would I undo it?"_

 _Phineas gauged him for a moment longer before replying. "I don't know."_

 _The wind left Harry in a heated breath he'd been holding._

" _But we can find out together." Harry looked up, shock and confusion evident on his face, to meet the penetrating gaze of Phineas. "I will guide you, through the materials you will need to gather if you are to research this properly."_

 _His eagerness must have shown in his eyes. Any hopes Harry had that he'd found a mentor of sorts were done away with as Phineas continued. "I shan't hold your hand, boy! Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm honor bound to wipe your nose or some such drivel! I am no last second savior in some fairytale. In fact, I would prefer you not come to me again until after you've discovered the truth of this matter, or your secrets may not be secrets much longer..."_

 _It was harsh, but Harry understood the empty threat for what it was. A test of resolve. Phineas was helping him, more than Harry had any right to expect, but it seemed even in death that the man wanted his heirs to be strong and capable independently. Having grown up from what some would consider tough love, Harry wouldn't have it any other way._

" _But I promise I shall keep an open ear if any relevant knowledge is revealed in my presence, though I doubt it will. I'm not fully convinced this Tom Riddle ever managed to cheat death, and if so, I'm still doubtful he was responsible for your father's demise…but you have a fire in your eyes, boy, sure as a storm… and just enough talent and power to properly ruin yourself - and by extension end my line in the process! I won't allow that to happen."_

 _Harry couldn't help the grim smile that spread on his face as the portrait descended into an angry fit of coughs. His odds, while still astronomically small, were looking up._

After that, he'd been given a comprehensive list of books and tomes to pursue, both from the Black Library and Hogwarts Library once he returned to school. Some books on spellcasting - charms and transfiguration - and even a few on runes and potions, but mostly books on the dark arts. Many of them, Harry noted humorlessly, were written by members of the Black family and unpublished for the rest of the world. Private journals, leather bound and messy. Heirlooms, in a twisted manor of speaking, and Phineas drilled him on the importance of not losing them.

Other books, such as the recherche 'Secrets of the Darkest Arts', would come later, when he was back in the castle. With the invisibility cloak his father had given him on his eleventh birthday and a few choice spells for added measure, Phineas assured him he would be able to access not just the Restricted Section - something Harry had already frequented in the past, looking for an explanation to his unique wandless abilities and finding none - but also the Headmasters' private library, which was added to by each Headmaster during their tenure. It went against everything Phineas believed in as a former educator, allowing a student to have knowledge of such a thing let alone helping him break into it, but he could not deny Harry's fervor.

The conversation - and ensuing collecting of items - had gone on so long that Harry had only just gotten away in time to meet Tonks, who already was searching for him in the rain outside of Potter Manor. The books and various trinkets he'd found remained hidden in his charmed moleskin satchel, if only just. He didn't have time to process any of the information that night, everything had happened so fast before he was whisked away to Bones' Manor, which is where the past three weeks came in.

Three weeks of thinking. Three weeks of reading. Three weeks of training, in private, coming off as a little more than a somber recluse to his hosts, though it was to be expected. All the while digesting what Phineas Black had told him.

Absentmindedly, Harry marvelled at the power some portraits possessed. The storage of a lifetime of memories and character traits alongside the ability to retain new information over several generations. It was a wonder he'd hit such a lucky break, stumbling across the one portrait at Hogwarts with access outside of the school, let alone a former Headmaster at that.

He wished his own parents, and grandparents even, had taken the time and spent the money to create portraits of themselves. It cost more than most pureblood families had in their vaults, he was aware, and the art of preservation via portrait was a fast dying one. Nonetheless, the Potters both had the means and the methods at their disposal, yet forewent the process. He'd questioned his father on it once, why there were no portraits in Potter Manor. Why there hadn't been any in their lodge in Godric's Hollow, prior to its destruction. The answer should have occurred to him.

" _You know… I once asked my father the same question, son." James Potter turned in his chair to address Harry with a half-smile._

 _The sun hit him from the window in his study, silhouetting a sad, tired face. His father looked worn out and the sight of it caused Harry's curious smile to falter. His father removed his glasses and turned fully to him._

" _I'll tell you now the same truth he told me." James took him in his arms, gently, and looked him in the eye so intently that Harry couldn't have looked away if he'd wanted to. "That 'what's dead is dead', son. There's no changing that. Not by the most complex of magics or with all the gold in the world."_

 _Harry felt his hopes plummet. His father winced, as though saying it aloud pained him, but it was something he knew he had to do. "Portraits can be useful..." he continued. "...cathartic even, but they're more for the vanity of the subject than for the fulfillment of those left behind; those living. You can easily lose yourself to them; indulge in their knowledge, bask in their stories.. but in the end, they're just paint and canvas._ Hollow _. The rest of the world may put weight in such things, but we Potters are the descendants of deaths equal -" he referred now to the Peverell's they famously hailed from, a fact Harry was always fascinated by "-and are made of sturner things than such sentiment, are we not?"_

 _Harry, being all of eight years, had simply nodded morosely. It did little to quell the disappointment he felt, knowing now that he'd never see a portrait of his grandparents, or his uncle Sirius… or his mother. Or even, when his time came, his father._

" _Hollow," he'd repeated obediently, his head bowed, a piece inside of him falling away._

" _Aye. Accept this simple fact son - that all men die. What matters is how we live, and as an afterthought, that we let the dead see to the dead. We…" here his father had lifted his chin comfortingly, in a rare display of tenderness. "...must look to the living."_

 _Receiving a pat on the head, Harry had left his father to his devices then, dejected, but doing his best not to show it. His father had seen right through him and had stopped him at the doorway to the study. "Remember Harry… paint and canvas."_

" _Paint and canvas," he had nodded back._

Harry put the memory away, violently burying it before it could build momentum. Processing the information from Phineas and the various books he was pouring over was one thing. Time consuming, headache inducing, _exhausting_ , but ultimately doable.

Processing his grief was another matter entirely.

Which is why he continued jogging once more, in the early twilight hour, alone. As he ran through the countryside, open pastures stretching for miles and miles, he thought back to the letter he'd received the day after his arrival at Bones' Manor. One of only a few letters he'd received all summer. The same letter he found himself reading every night before bed.

 _ **Harry,**_

 _ **I am sorry.**_

Harry picked up his pace. Daylight was fast approaching and he wanted to finish his routine before either Susan or her aunt awoke. While they knew he rose early and suspected he trained, they didn't know what his training entailed. He prefered to keep it that way.

 _ **I am so, so very sorry for your loss.**_

His heart rate grew erratic as he pushed himself, challenging himself to make it to a small outcrop of trees and the little river that was but a mile away in record time.

 _ **We only just found out via the Daily Prophet, and we couldn't believe it. We understand why the news couldn't come from you. I'm sure 'loss' doesn't even begin to describe what you must be feeling right now.**_

What he felt was winded. His muscles were on fire, as though his veins were pumping with battery acid, but still he ran faster.

 _ **I would be incapable of anything, were I in your shoes, let alone writing to my best friends to tell them my father had died.**_

His father used to coach him on the importance of endurance during a fight. How some wizards were such experts, fully in control of their environment, that they were capable of commanding the field with the barest, most economic of movements, so much so that they seemed as though they were standing still. Duellists like his Uncle Remus or his own mother had been, and to a far greater extent, the likes of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry, like James Potter before him, was not that type of duelist.

 _ **My heart aches at the mere thought. I can't imagine the state you must be in, Harry. The pain must be unimaginable.**_

A burning pain developed in his side despite his thorough stretching before hand. He grit his teeth in frustration, forcing himself to breathe evenly, almost at his destination.

 _ **I've no experience on the subject of death . In fact, we're fortunate that none of us do, Su, Morag, and I , which only makes it all the worse considering how… acquainted you're becoming to it.**_

He got used to the pain in his side, endorphins flowing freely as he neared his goal...

 _ **Life, as you've always told me, just isn't fair.**_

...only to trip on a downward incline in the darkness and stumble headlong down the hill.

 _ **You don't deserve this.**_

It was a long way down.

 _ **You, of all people.**_

"Ouch…"' he breathed mirthlessly. He groaned when he'd finally settled before chuckling in spite of his bruised state, noting that one way or another, he had arrived at the river.

 _ **I know you know this, but your father was truly a wonderful man. Honorable and heroic.**_

" _Fuck honor. Fight dirty,_ " his father had once said. In contrast to such graceful and controlled duellers like Remus or his mother, his father instead taught him to fight the Potter way - to cast hard and fast and instinctively, to harness their agility and notable spellwork into a crafty, deceptively calculated, and rage-fuelled onslaught that overwhelmed most opponents senses.

 _ **He was always kind and polite and even playful on the rare occasion that we'd visit your home.**_

His father was a tough man, less prone to sentiment the older he grew, but a prudent one. He'd seen immediately where Harry's strengths would lie and helped cultivate them with diligence - and no small payment of blood and sweat, though not tears. Never tears.

 _ **The Daily Prophet even featured several articles on him, full of testimonies from wizards and witches singing his praise for his many valiant efforts during and after the war.**_

His father taught him the hard lesson that being heroic in one's actions meant doing so when no one was looking. That an act of kindness, unseen, always outweighed a performance of bravery in front of an audience. That a hero shouldn't care what anyone else thought about them, because they're doing what they know in their hearts is right.

 _ **I'm sure you care less about what we or the Daily Prophet or anyone else thinks about him.**_

Which is why Harry never understood how his father could never see himself as anything less than a hero. Some days, it was as though the man hated himself.

 _ **I didn't know him as well as I'd like, but I do know for a fact that he was a good father. He raised you right; into the most caring, wonderful, loyal person one could hope to meet.**_

Harry picked himself up, not bothering to dust himself off. He'd be dirty again in a second. He always felt dirty when it came to the dark arts; every time he'd come out here and practice his budding arsenal of spells. Spells he wasn't sure his father intended for him to learn, though the man no doubt knew them himself.

Harry fired off a quick salvo. 'Leg-locking, 'limb-numbing', and the dicey 'blood freezing' curses to start. The combo was meant to quickly take an opponent out of the fight permanently without killing them right away. Immobilizing them before numbing their limbs, so they were then unaware of their blood slowly freezing. Without a proper counter, they'd die a few minutes later without ever knowing what happened. A frighteningly simple combination he'd picked from yet another Black ancestor.

The spells impacted the closest tree harmlessly, fizzling on the bark as such magic would against a legless, limbless, bloodless thing. They didn't leave so much as a mark, but they felt… right. Harry pressed on, not daring to test it on an animal to gauge its full effects.

 _ **That, I think, would be his greatest accomplishment;**_

The Dark Arts required a certain mindset, a specific intent. To hurt, to maim, to do something _wicked_. That, more than their actual effects or their nature, is what deemed them 'dark' in comparison to other spells. Intent.

Harry, for better or worse, found himself unnaturally suited to the material.

 _ **his true pride**_

He moved closer to the tree, hurling bone-breakers and severing curses now. This time, the tree didn't weather the storm. Three spells in, chunks of it flying every which way, and it groaned before falling with a mighty thud against its brothers.

 _ **\- you.**_

Harry stared at it with a look of indifference. A tree was nothing. He needed more.

 _ **I can't imagine a bit of scribbled ink on parchment can offer any comfort to you.**_

With that, the flood gates opened ever so slightly, and a portion of the pain and anger and guilt he felt swam to the surface. A mere fraction, that's all he could allow to bubble to the surface, loosed upon the world.

Two more trees fell instantly, the spells unseen and unspoken as dark intent flooded the area.

 _ **You may see them as pretty words from a naive girl, and you'd perhaps be right. But what I can't put into words…**_

He allowed the hate to course through his veins, guiding his arm. His wand was a blur as another tree combusted, soon catching its neighbors alight.

 _ **what I know to be true…**_

Hate. For that split moment, it was all he knew.

 _ **...is that I love you, Harry James Potter.**_

Harry paused, remembering his friend's words. And then he shut it out again, or at least tried to.

 _ **We all do.**_

It still wasn't enough.

His father could have decimated the same amount of trees with but a couple flicks of his wand. The final spell his father had cast, one of the legendary _fiends_ , would have obliterated the entire clearing and then some by now. And James Potter had died nonetheless, leaving Harry alone...

 _ **And you are not alone, no matter how you might be feeling in the moment.**_

...just as he was now. He could feel the energy curling beneath his skin, feel it bristle at the thought of facing his father's murderers, yearning to be unleashed. To be let loose.

 _ **We won't pester you with letters, which is why Su and Morag are here with me as I write this, sending their love and thoughts alongside me. We know you need your space.**_

He couldn't breathe. He felt like he was suffocating from the weight in his chest. Everything was too close.

 _ **We know you need time to heal…**_

The trees, burning and splintered, were too close.

 _ **...if, indeed, you can.**_

The stubborn river, flowing with no thought to him, no regard for his pain, was too close.

 _ **But when you're ready - the very moment you are - we will be here for you. Waiting.**_

The energy pressed harder, churned violently inside of him. Waiting.

 _ **Only don't take too long. You know how we like to worry, especially at the possibility of those same monsters - whoever they are - coming after you.**_

He tried to bring it under control, to reign it in, knowing he had the power to do so. Then Antonin Dolohov's face flashed in his mind..

 _ **And more importantly, don't do that thing you do; don't internalize the pain, don't bottle it up.**_

It was his to control. His energy. His power.

 _ **It's too much to keep contained, even for you.**_

Only now, he didn't want to control it.

 **If not with us, at least share the burden with someone, anyone, anything.**

The energy was building to a crescendo. His arms shook. His face, painted red by the burning trees, froze in agony.

 **Just don't keep it to yourself. It'll eat you from the inside and turn you into something you're not.**

Silence descended for a split second.

Then Harry let go.

 _ **Then we'd really be upset with you, and wherever your father is, you know that he would be, too.**_

An unholy wind. That's what it felt like. An explosion of magical energy, visible to the eye, shimmering blue and gold, rocked forth from his body. It tore through the ground in an expanding sphere that grew to encompass everything within five meters. Kinetic energy broke down molecules of water, earth, and vegetation with abandon.

Even the river stopped flowing momentarily.

Chaos reigned. When the sphere broke a second later, everything around Harry was decimated.

 _ **And I know how you hate to disappoint him.**_

Embers danced around his slumped form, standing - barely - in the midst of the destruction. He felt beyond exhausted. He felt truly spent. Like a toy whose batteries had run dry. And as always, he felt unclean and dirty and utterly wrong.

 _ **He is, after all, your hero...**_

His last vestige of energy spent, he collapsed to his knees, panting, flooded by thoughts of his father.

 _ **...and you, Harry Potter, are ours.**_

Surrounded by smoke and blanketed in ash, in the midst of several burning husks - some belatedly collapsing to the ground - that were the sole remainder of a once beautiful crop of trees, Harry Potter didn't feel like a hero.

He felt ashamed. He felt sick, with death surrounding him; the aftermath of _his_ power an ugly sight to look at. He'd lost yet another training ground in the process. If the Bones didn't live so isolated, someone might have grown suspicious.

More than anything, he felt like he finally understood what his father felt like. Why he'd always insisted he wasn't a hero to his adoring son, with that faraway look in his eyes. ' _Is this also the path you took, father?_ '

He took in his surroundings and knew with bitter truth… it still wasn't enough.

 _ **Love**_

 _ **always,**_

 _ **Mandy ~ and Morag and Su**_

 _The locket_ around his neck burned, almost contentedly, awakening Harry to his senses. He breathed in his surrounding one last time before standing on shaky legs and looking to the east. Light, golden instead of pale, peaked over the closest hills. Dawn had come, and the day must go on.

He must go on.

An hour later, Harry descended the main stairway, eagerly following the wafting smell of bacon to the dining room. His hair still dripped from the shower he'd just gotten out of. It had been cold and long, but only somewhat refreshing. No matter how hard he'd scrubbed, he couldn't remove the feeling of uncleanliness; of impurity. It was beyond skin deep, he knew, like an infection, and it lasted longer every time he returned from the woods. Not that he had any intention of stopping.

As he entered the dining room and saw the pair of witches already seated, he put such concerns to the back of his mind, compartmentalizing it like he did everything else.

"Morning," Madame Bones said. She sat at the head of the table, a cuppa in hand, pouring over something undoubtedly related to work. She was an early riser, Harry knew, but she rarely joined him at the table aside from dinner. Neither did she have guests - in this case Tonks - over so early in the morning.

"Morning," he said evenly, casually making his way to the seat across from the pink haired auror. He was tempted to sit at the far end of the table and allow both himself and the witches their respective space, but he didn't want to come off rude or suspicious. He had far too much to hide to look as though he were hiding anything.

"Wotcher," groused Tonks, clearly not a morning person.

Harry smirked at his friend, pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. "Six months of auror training and you're still not a fan of the mornings, I see."

"Ha. You'd think six months of working under Mad-Eye would get me accustomed to waking early. Turns out the old codger isn't a morning person either."

Harry hummed absently, somewhat aware of Moody's eccentricities through his father. The retired auror had not only been James Potter's captain in the auror service before his retirement and James' promotion to Head Auror, but also his co-leader of the Order in the last phases of the war. A good man, if a little excessive at times.

"Didn't take you for the morning type," Tonks replied, watching with amusement as Harry hungrily eyed the various plates of sausage, bacon, toast, kippers, and eggs, among others.

"Oh?" Harry was famished, but manners demanded he wait for the women present to serve themselves first. "And what did you think my type was?"

"A teenager," Tonks smirked back, a smile coming to her face as an audible rumble was heard by all three of them.

"For goodness sake, Mr. Potter, don't sit on ceremony. Eat." Harry tipped his head in thanks before doing just that. "You must be famished after the morning you've had" He turned to Madame Bones with a searching expression. "Your training is rather rigorous, I assume?"

Harry managed to keep calm, if only just. "Yes, very rigorous. Father put me through the paces every day during the summers.. Said the muggle exercises made for a better chaser and would eventually carry over to my benefit as an auror."

Madame Bones closed her book, her tone curious. "I can understand the auror aspect, though I daresay hardly anyone else on the force bothers. It's one of the many things that had set your father apart from his peers… However, I wasn't aware you played quidditch."

Harry often enjoyed the way Madame Bones spoke of his father. Casually, fondly, almost wistfully, though the times were few as they rarely ran into one another. It would always be after he'd brought the subject up first, but at least she didn't skirt the issue once it was broached. Susan, his only other source of interaction in the last three weeks, avoided the subject almost altogether. He could understand her approach, not wanting to upset him with talk of the dead, but in comparison Madame Bones treated him like an adult. Harry appreciated it, even if it brought up memories he'd just as soon not dwell on.

"No, I don't," he conceded. Tonks looked up from buttering some toast, surprised. "Not anymore, at least. Susan informed you well." Madame Bones blinked at his accurate guess on her source. "I was on the team previously."

"Bloody brilliant, he was."

"Language, auror," corrected Madame Bones absently. "So you used to play? What made you change your mind?"

"I was banned from the team," Harry replied bluntly, too busy forging a massive plate filled with chicken, bangers and mash, eggs and toast, as well as a side plate full of yogurt and nuts and berries. His metabolism had been insane ever since he'd started another growth spurt, though he was already taller than most of his classmates.

Madame Bones blinked at his response and blinked again at his portion sizes. "Care to elaborate?"

"Perhaps banned is the wrong word." He swallowed a whole banger before wiping his mouth to properly explain. "Let's just say I had a falling out with the captain at the end of my third year and coincidentally was not chosen by said captain at trials the following year."

"That prissy git Davis kicked you off?" Tonks looked invested now, having been on the Hufflepuff team herself and playing against the bastard. "Why, you were their best chaser."

"I don't know about all that," Tonks scoffed but Harry pressed on, "but it basically had to do with Davis and I getting into an argument after our loss against Gryffindor. The brooms Longbottom had bought the team were one thing, a sudden disadvantage we couldn't have done much about, but Davis' refusal to replace Cho - our seeker - after a nasty hit from the Weasley twins was a colossal mistake and I called him on it afterwards."

"Those Weasley twins are right bastards with those bats, I tell ya." Tonks nodded in understanding. "Their brother Charlie was something else though."

"Weasleys? Arthur Weasleys boys?" Madame Bones couldn't help but chime in. Harry suspected it had been quite a while since she'd been able to reminisce about her alma mater, busy as she was.

"Yes, the whole lot of them are, from what I understand. Anyway, Davis retaliated to my criticism by saying some rather unbecoming things about me and, by extension, my mother."

Madame Bones remained impassive but Tonks narrowed her eyes. "Oh. Called you a son of a bitch, did he?"

"Right in one," Harry said in a clipped tone. "Suffice to say, I disagreed with such a sentiment. Strongly. Coincidentally, on our trek back from the pitch to our common room, my esteemed captain managed to fall."

"Fall?" Madame Bones deadpanned. Harry could practically hear the disbelief in her voice, and Tonks smirk wasn't helping matters.

"Yes, fall… you know how the castles staircases are: moving and shuffling about unexpectedly. Downright dangerous if you ask me. I, of course, was held accountable for not preventing Mr. Davis' falls, being the only one in the vicinity."

Harry's pink haired friend was almost beaming as she tried to hold in her laughter, but the monocle wearing witch to his left looked less amused. "'Falls', as in plural?" Harry nodded. "And do tell, how many times did Mr. Davis fall?"

"You know…" Harry tapped his chin innocently, "...it all becomes a bit of a blur. Four, five, twelve... I couldn't say for sure. Neither could Roger, come to think of it."

Tonks erupted in laughter, unable to contain herself, and her genuine happiness brought an equally genuine smile from Harry. A smile that grew wider still when Madame Bones, blinking once again, gave up the fight to remain impassive and let loose a lovely chuckle herself.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I can only hope it was a fair trade," she commented lightly when they'd all settled down. She blinked once more when she took in the empty plates in front of Harry, the mountains of food somehow having been consumed in the span of a few minutes.

"I miss the heat of the game, but…" Harry thought back to the girly scream Davis let out as Harry beat 'the man' out of him. "Mm, definitely worth the trade."

"Ravenclaw will be hopeless without you," Tonks praised him while shaking her head, though Harry brushed it off. Cho, Randall and the others were no pushovers themselves. The way he saw it, his private training only increased without so much time spent in practices and games, so it was for the best in the end.

Madame Bones cleared her plate and stood with all the grace befitting her station.

"As fun as this has been, I do have work to attend to, and unlike someone here -" she shot a look at Tonks, who was busy stuffing her mouth full of kippers " - I am not, as they say, on the clock yet. So while I'd like to explain what all is going on to you, Mr. Potter, I will instead leave you in Auror Tonks capable -" Tonks smiled at her boss, food still packed in her mouth, " - sticky, erm, hands. She will no doubt fill you in. I shall see you this evening Mr. Potter. Good morning to you both." With that the monocle wearing woman walked away to her study, and from there, undoubtedly flooed to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Harry stood and nodded a farewell as the lady of the manor left, several scenarios playing through his head at once. At first, he'd assumed Tonks had been there to help corner Harry. That they'd somehow followed him and discovered what he'd been up to in the early mornings, or worse yet, had managed to unlock his trunk and discovered all the questionable literature within.

When that proved to not be the case throughout breakfast, he knew there could only be one other explanation for Tonks' presence.

"Soooo…." said Tonks, breaking the uncomfortable silence Madame Bones had left in her wake. "To business?"

"In a moment…" Harry wanted to savor the moment, seeing Tonks wipe her chin free of any fish bits. "Not kissing anyone this morning, I see." Harry smiled into his coffee, having switched his pumpkin juice out for something a little stronger. He didn't need to jump into business right away. Catching up with Tonks was something he could stand more of, if he were being honest with himself.

Tonks adopted an affronted look. "Rude as ever, I see," she replied in the same knowing tone he'd used, slurping noisily from her cup of tea. "My lover happens to enjoy a fine woman unafraid of a proper english breakfast - kippers, eggs, cupa."

Harry cleared his throat. "Riight, because everyone loves the smell of oily fish in the morning." Tonks nodded imperiously and Harry smirked. "Now, would this 'lover' of yours be the seven foot tall Hit-Wizard with 'Lockharts good looks', or the twenty-stone Puddlemere United player who has 'Merlin's abs'?"

"Pfft. It would be the aristocratic foreign delegate from Bolgaria who's worth a fortune and prettier than the other two combined," Tonks corrected.

Harry nodded sagely, as though he'd just realized his mistake. "Ah, yes. How could I forget Andrei Bumkissian, Bard of the Sodom Hills."

The two stared at each other, deadpan. Then Tonks' nose wrinkled and Harry's lips twitched, and the two erupted into laughter, scaring poor Morgan visible, having invisibly popped in to collect Madame Bones' dishes. It must have been an usual sight for the Bones' house elf, two magicals banging their fists on the table to steady themselves, one nearly falling out of her chair.

For Harry, it was a familiar site and a welcome one. They'd been relatively close once, he and Tonks. She was several years older than he was at Hogwarts, but despite her chipper personality, she didn't have many friends. Not because of any rubbish that people couldn't accept her or treated her like a freak due to her gifts; quite the opposite in fact. Tonks could easily have been popular with all the people hounding after her, but she had opted to be a recluse instead. "Comes with being a girl more than being a metamorphmagus", she'd explained when he'd asked. "I'm fine with friends, but I'm by no means eager to tether myself to people willy-nilly. You never know what can ruin something good after you get close to people - envy, paranoia, or worse yet, love." The latter part had struck Harry as odd at the time, but Tonks hadn't elaborated on it. "Best to just avoid most people altogether unless you're sure they're special. Like you." She had tousled his messy hair at the time, back when she was still taller than him, but his mind had long lingered on what she'd said.

Looking at her now, only half-seated and clutching the table for support, her bubblegum pink hair bouncing in the light of the golden hour, Harry felt he could understand it quite easily. Who wouldn't fall in love with her, given time. He also understood that Tonks - beautiful, vivacious, free spirited Tonks - wouldn't want their love if it meant compromising her plans and dreams. People were anchors, sometimes, and her ship was free and directionless without a bunch of them. Yes, he could understand that perfectly as well, which made it all the more flattering that she chose him to be one of her few friends.

In many ways, they were alike. Beyond just their dorky humor and their chosen career paths (aspiring in his case) and even their love of muggle trends and music. Harry knew that they were both, on some level, loveless. Loveless and yet perfectly alright with that.

"Andrei BUM-KISSian? Really, Harry? I forgot what a filthy prat you were!" She smiled toothily, her teeth unnaturally perfect. "And Duke of the _Sodom Hills_? Oh, merlin, where do you come up with these things? What're they teaching you in that school of yours." She tried to adopt an authoritative look, but it was ruined by her nose twitching and, well, her everything.

"Same thing they taught you when you attended," Harry shrugged. "Why Bolivia? I expected something like Ireland or France."

"Pfft. Still know nothing, I see. Bolivian lads are fit! Everyone knows that." Harry rolled his eyes. "'Sides, Irish wizards are hardly exotic here, rascals the lot of them, and the French are… well, French." Tonks shook her head as though to rid herself of an image, and Harry was glad she didn't elaborate. "Suffice to say, _not_ my type."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh? And pray tell, what is your type?"

"Why do you want to know that?" she countered, holding her cuppa in front of her mouth with both hands.

"Curious," Harry shrugged. He found he did that often these days; _shrug_.

Tonks quirked an eyebrow. "You know what they say about curiosity."

"What's that?"

"That it killed the cat."

"..."

"..."

"...what cat?"

Tonks nearly choked on her tea. "What cat?" What do you mean, 'What Cat'?"

"You said it killed the cat-"

"-yes, the cat from the story! You mean you've really never heard of that expression before? It's quite common in the mug-"

Tonks stopped at the teasing glint in Harry's eye. Of course he knew.

"Oh, you cheeky bugger. Remind me why I put up with you again?" Her glare had no effect on him.

"Because you secretly fancy me," Harry replied without missing a beat. Tonks looked at him funny. "Now are you going to tell me this 'type' you claim to have, or do the qualifications simply end at 'imaginary'?"

"Har-har. Laugh it up, Potter. Jealousy is an ill fit for you."

"Hard to be jealous of what isn't there," replied Harry drolly before downing his coffee.

"It is, isn't it?" Tonks tone had taken on a strange quality, almost sad, and it caught Harry off guard.

"Tonks, I-"

"To business then!" And just like that, Harry's eccentric auror friend stood from her chair, clumsily knocking it back in the process, and put her hands on her hips as though she were posing for something. Harry could only shake his head at her usual method of dealing with things; avoidance. It was not dissimilar to his own methods.

"To business!" He instead matched her enthusiasm, chair knock-back and all. No doubt the house elf Morgan would not be amused. "Erm… exactly what is business?"

Tonks stopped mid-sprint to the floo and turned to Harry, bashful. "Aha. Riight... Nearly forgot to tell you." She straightened up in what Harry understood to be her Auror persona. "The investigation of Potter Manor finished yesterday."

Harry knew it, and a part of him was thrilled at the prospect of returning home. Another part of him, however, dreaded it. Could a home be a home if everything that made it a home was gone?

"I am to take you to Podmore, who should be waiting for us there by now. He conducted the investigation, rather thoroughly, and is meeting us for a debriefing of sorts." Harry raised a brow at that, certain they hadn't found anything foul in the house, though Tonks was quick to assure him. "Just a few questions, from what I understand. Afterwards, the place is obviously yours, but seeing as your guardian won't be here for another week or so yet, it's strongly recommended that you stay with Madame Bones a few days longer, 'til Ms. Vance arrives."

' _That's right_ ,' Harry recalled. One of the other letters he'd received that summer. From Emmeline Vance.

His new guardian.

Harry often forgot he has one, still acclimating to being an orphan. The Bones' had been wonderful in giving him space and autonomy, or at least as much as could be reasonable for a grieving fourteen year old. He wasn't sure he'd receive the same consideration from Vance, and such freedom was essential for his plans.

After finding out who was named in his father's will to adopt him, more or less, Harry had cocked his head in numbed confusion. Emmeline Vance. An image of a slim, beautiful, auburn haired witch popped into view. Not unlike his mother, only the witch he remembered was less vibrant, her hair less red, her smile less wholesome. A twitch of her lips, a glassy look in her eye. Harry didn't remember the woman well, as he'd only ever met her at parties, and before his mother had passed at that. Still, nearly eight years later and he remember that she always looked distant. Sad.

She hadn't kept in touch with Harry over the years, though he could only assume she and his father had if they'd been so close. He understood that he couldn't go with Lupin. The man was too damaged, and that was aside from his furry little problem. His constant and lengthy travels outside the country were also a roadblock. Plus the Ministry, while more lenient towards supposed 'dark creatures' thanks to the efforts of James Potter, would still have made a fuss. Still, he'd expected a handful of people before Emmeline.

She'd sent one letter since his father had died. One.

It had summarily expressed her condolences and affirmed that she would be staying with him at Potter Manor and wouldn't be forcing him to uproot. She apologized in advance for the inconvenience, as she was abroad on confidential business and would return as soon as possible to assume her duties as his legal guardian and caretaker, and that she trusted he could manage with the Bones' a little longer.

That was it. Nothing further, no explanation as to what took precedence over her newly inherited responsibility, no questioning of how such a thing as his father's death occurred, no long winded messages of grief. Harry's numbed confusion - and it could only be numb because no matter who took him in, they weren't his father - only increased. Madame Bones, however, had seemed completely unsurprised. Piecing together what Harry knew of Vance - worked with his father but wasn't an auror, worked for the ministry but wasn't in law enforcement, often travelled, but could never speak about her work - paired with Madame Bones mild awe, and he quickly came to a conclusion.

Emmeline Vance was an Unspeakable.

Despite their namesake, Harry had heard all about the people who worked in the Department of Ministries, testing all manor of magic and pushing the boundaries of the science. All of it confidential work, conducted by the most intelligent and secretive wizards in the country. If his suspicions were correct, he'd soon be living under the same roof as one. The prospect was oddly exciting, if a little worrying, as he had no way of knowing how it would affect his plans.

"What're my other options, if I chose to return to Potter Manor now." Harry put aside his theories for now.

"You'd be allowed to return home, but we'd place an auror on duty with you at all times for your own protection." Tonks bit her lip. "Me, to be precise."

Harry had to admit, the idea of sharing a house with Tonks for a week wasn't horrible. Under different circumstances, it would be downright appealing to the boy admittedly going through all that puberty entailed. However, he had an unexpected amount of autonomy with the Bones'. They gave him space, assured he couldn't be up to any trouble whilst at their home. With Tonks hovering by him all day at Potter Manor, he doubted he could continue his training proper.

Harry made his choice.

"Tempting as that is, Tonks," he wiggled an eyebrow at his friend, "I don't know if I'm quite ready to return home yet. You know…"

The trepidation evident in his voice wasn't entirely put on, and Tonks immediately crossed the distance to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hey, of course. Don't worry about it. Potter Manor isn't going anywhere. You'll return when you're ready and not a second sooner, alright? Promise."

Harry nodded his thanks at her understanding before quirking an eyebrow as Tonks had yet to release his shoulder, rubbing it absently in a weird cross between intimate and motherly.. "Erm, Tonks?"

"Mm?"

"Aren't we returning to Potter Manor _now_?"

Tonks blinked, no doubt registering the promise she'd just made seconds earlier, and sighed. "Bugger.."

The floo deposited Harry at a spin, and he had to damn near twist his ankle off to counter the rotation and not fall on his arse. Apparition? Easy, if not necessarily enjoyable. Flying? A breeze, like second nature. Portkeys? Nauseating, but he was good with those as well. Floo travel? The eternal bane of Harry's existence.

Brushing the soot off of his shirt, Harry took in the entrance hall to his home. Potter Manor was exactly the same as he'd left it. Spartan, clean, almost like a spatial void. Tall ceilings, wide hallways, and otherwise sharp architecture. It lacked the feeling that it had been lived in for any long amount of time. It had never emulated the warmth found in every corner of their cottage back in Godric's Hollow. Back when they'd been a whole family.

"Funny," Harry mused out loud. Tonks had just come out of the fireplace without missing a step, and Harry was somewhat jealous of the normally clumsy girl's success. "My father had moved out of Potter Manor during the war, after his parents had died. Mum told be that the wound was too deep for him to live here any longer. That's why he and mum had settled in the Godric's Hollow property. Then, after Dolohov…" Harry could feel his face tightening despite keeping his tone casual. "It's just funny is all; what makes you block out the pain from old wounds."

"Often new ones," Tonks nodded, though she looked concerned.

"Auror Tonks, down here." A voice that Harry recognized as Sturgis Podmore's echoed down the hallway. The two made their way to James Potter's study and found the normally aloof Podmore sitting atop the desk, frown firmly fixed in place.

"Wotcher Podmore," Tonks voiced, though it was subdued. Harry sensed a fracture in their work relationship. Podmore's stiff nod didn't say otherwise.

"Auror Tonks." Podmore turned his gaze to Harry fully. "Mr. Potter."

"Auror Podmore." Harry didn't feel comfortable calling the man by his name alone, or Uncle Podmore or anything overly familial. Despite seeing the wizard on numerous occasions at Potter Manor and the Ministry, they had never developed a rapport like Harry had with some of his father's other friends, few though they were. Harry was rarely one to initiate conversations with anyone and Podmore was usually a very aloof and indifferent man. Now, though, he seemed entirely serious - and completely focused on Harry.

"The reason I've asked you here today is to notify you that the investigation which protocol demanded we conduct on your home has been completed. In the aftermath of our search, we've come across a few things and I have a few questions for you."

Harry nodded, Tonks having said the same thing. "Alright, but do you mind if we do it elsewhere? This was my fathers study and being back here…"

Podmore looked as though he wanted to deny Harry even that, but Tonks quickly aqueased on their behalf, so the party of three made their way to the living room proper. Harry sat on the large, dark leather sofa - the same he often found his father passed out on in the early morning hours - with Tonks sitting in a love seat she had turned in order to face him, and Podmore hovering next to her, standing as stiff as a statue.

"Right... Well, I'll cut to the chase, Mr. Potter. While nothing strictly speaking illegal or 'dark' was found in the home, not that we expected to find anything of that nature, we did stumble upon a curious thing; a secret compartment in your father's desk back there that contained what appears to be his private journal."

Podmore paused to see if Harry would comment. Silence lingered for a moment. "My father kept a journal? Can I read it?"

Tonks' face remained blank, which was never a good sign, and Podmore almost smiled. "I believe you already have."

Harry blinked at the accusation but remained silent, and the auror took the opportunity to pounce on his prey, pulling from behind him the journal in question. "You see, inside this journal, we found a great deal of information. Some insightful, others… troubling."

Podmore began to pace back and forth in front of Harry. "Your father was obsessed - for lack of a better word -" Harry bristled in his seat but remained silent. " -with Antonin Dolohov and the remaining Death Eaters still in the wind. No doubt a result of what happened at Godric's Hollow and none can blame him. Now, there's nothing overly incriminating there. For all we know, he was being a good auror and searching for priority targets with the intent to capture them and bring them to justice."

The three of them looked at each other. They all knew that was not James Potter's intentions.

"Full of information on these targets; known associates, aliases, hideouts, and travel patterns. Even their duelling tactics employed during the war. Now he couldn't have accumulated this all on his own, but regardless, I admit -" Podmore stopped his pacing to look directly at Harry. "- your father was a fantastic auror, and a part of me is taking his findings to heart for the future." Tonks nodded in firm agreement, but still remained quiet. "However…" Once again, Podmore resumed pacing. "...there were also other things in the journal."

"Such as?"

"Don't play coy, Mr. Potter. Spells, an abundance of them, riddled those pages, all of them questionable at best. While it's perhaps understandable for the Head Auror to be familiar with the Dark Arts, presumably to counter such things in the field-" again, the look the three of them shared was beyond skeptical "-the same knowledge is not essential in any way for a _child_. In fact, it's strictly forbidden and quite literally illegal."

Harry 'hmmed' to himself at Podmore's piercing gaze. "Well… 'suppose it's a good thing I didn't find that journal then."

Podmore stared hard at Harry, who didn't look away. The atmosphere was getting tense now.

"You're not half as clever as you think, boy."

"Still makes me twice as clever as you, old man."

"Okay, enough, both of you." Tonks had put her arms up warningly. Harry didn't like the accusations the man was throwing around, even if they were completely true. Podmore, for his part, looked like Christmas had come early.

"Oh? Well then I'm sure you've heard of this spell." Podmore silently cast a charm on the journal and Harry saw the book glow a faint blue. "You see? This is an advanced charm we aurors are taught, along with a great deal of other spells tailored for investigations and acts of subterfuge." Harry was aware of many of those, his powerful listening charm being one such spell, but he was unfamiliar with the one Podmore had just used. "This one in particular reveals to us when an object has been copied. Still feeling clever?"

Harry felt his pulse quicken rapidly, but remained impassive on the outside. "Alright?"

"Alright? 'Alright?' Is that all you have to say. Mr. Potter?" Podmore tutted in disappointment.

"What else do you wan-"

"Cut the act, boy, and give us the copy."

"What copy?"

"The copy you made the day we came to visit you! You thought you were so smart, leaving everything just so, but magic always leaves a footprint. One simply needs to know how to look for it. Unfortunately for you, I do." He stepped closer to Harry. "You copied your father's journal, just like you copied several other books from the library. Why you felt the need to hide your interest in them, I don't know, but it doesn't point to anything good, to say nothing of possessing a book filled with information on the dark arts."

' _He's good_ ', Harry thought. ' _Tonks wasn't kidding when she said the man had been thorough. No wonder it's taken three weeks._ ' His mind spun looking for ways to get out of this, to prove his innocence, before the solution hit him. ' _Proof._ '

"I can't speak as to why he would copy anything from the library, but its possible my father copied his journal at some point if he didn't want to risk the original out in the field? Or perhaps as a safety measure?" He ended his thoughts sounding more like a question, as though he had no experience in such matters.

"What?"

"I didn't copy anything, but I'm sure my father had his reasons for doing so." Harry lied through his teeth. Tonks seemed to mull the possibility over, no doubt eager to believe her friend, but Podmore looked stricken. "Does the spell say when exactly he copied it?"

"No," Podmore ground out. "But of course, you already guessed that, based off your quick cover."

"Podmore," warned Tonks.

"He's a liar, Tonks, and a good one at that." Harry met his accusation unflinchingly, but the auror switched tactics. "Tell me - where were you the afternoon Tonks came to whisk you away. She said you weren't here."

"I was out running," Harry maintained the same pretense he'd established that day. "I needed to clear my head."

"Running?" Podmore's voice dripped with skepticism.

"Yes, running. It's a new trend that's going around to do with staying in shape. You ought to try it some time."

The locket around Harry's neck burned. Podmore stepped closer to Harry with a controlled anger in his eyes, who then rose from his seat in retaliation. Normally neither man would get this riled up, and Harry knew he was being far more emotional than he usually was, compromising his footing in the argument, but the way Podmore pressed him got on his nerves. So much so that he didn't back down when the auror stepped into his personal space. He wasn't even half a hand taller than Harry, who was undoubtedly going to grow past the man within a years time to tower over him, just as his father had.

Tonks, too, had risen, wand in hand. "Enough, both of you." They both ignored her, staring at each other challengingly.

"You think this is a game, boy." There it was again. The word ' _boy'_ , just like Phineas. Harry didn't feel like a little boy, so why did others insist on calling him such. "That's what you are, after all - a boy. You think you can avenge your father, is that it? Want to keep your secrets, play the hero. What in Merlin's name do _you_ think _you_ can do?"

Harry grit his teeth. He hated how Podmore seemed capable of reading his mind, able to give voice to his own fears of inadequacy. He lashed out without thinking, desperate as he was to get one over on the man. "Who is Tom Riddle?"

"What?"

The conversation came to a lull, the momentum reset. Tonks backed off from having inched closer during the argument. Podmore took a step back, dumbfoundment on his face. "Who?"

"Tom Riddle, do you know who he is?" Harry breathed steadily, but his fists were clenched at his sides. He hated that he'd allowed his emotions to control him. He'd been called a boy and he'd retaliated by acting like one. ' _Pathetic_ ', a voice in his mind said.

"No." Podmore looked suspicious. "If this is yo-"

"You asked me what I could do, auror? Well, seeing as you don't even know who Tom Riddle is, it would seem a damn sight more than you." Harry planted the seed and successfully avoided the previous topic of his disappearance. Or so he thought.

"I don't care what you're on about." Indeed, it looked as though Podmore had already forgotten the name. "What I do know is that I ought to drag you down to the DMLE and give you some veritaserum to get through this web you're weaving."

"Podmore!" Tonks seemed to be at her wits end with her partner. "Harry isn't a suspect in James' murder, clearly. Veritaserum is out of the question, as is any further questioning for that matter!" She'd finally taken a side. Harry was glad to see it was his.

"'Harry.'" Podmore repeated her words. "Listen to yourself, auror. So familiar. So doting. You're not seeing him objectively."

Tonks looked abashed but held her ground. Podmore walked to the windows, looking out at the colossal mountain that was Snowdon.

"I know he had nothing to do with his father's death. He loved the man."

That single comment brought Harry up short. Both he and Tonks saw the man staring into the distance, eyes out of focus, and for a fraction of a second something akin to sorrow entered his voice. It was gone before Harry could convince himself it was there.

"Which is exactly why he, _himself_ , is suspect; a boy just foolish enough to think himself clever and just smart enough to try something idiotic. A murdered father, an angsty teen. A book of dark spells and years of research on his probable killers? He's going to go do something dangerous out of some juvenile need to avenge his father, you can see it in those angry eyes of his." He turned from Tonks to Harry and back to the metamorphmagus. "And who do you think is going to be held accountable when he fails? When he hurts someone, or gets hurt himself? Who will be accountable when he _dies_?"

Every word hung in the air, a weight to it. Tonks looked conflicted, convinced of Podmore's motives but likely not his actions. Harry pitied her, having to balance personal and professional points of view, but he was more amazed at how astute the man in front of him was.

Podmore had always looked so apathetic, so indifferent whenever he'd come home with Harry's father. Now, in a brief glimpse, the stubborn - proactive! - man seemed full of regret.

"Give us your wand," said Podmore suddenly, though it came out in a reserved tone. He turned from the window, jaw set, as though he expected Harry to fight him on it. His eyes widened imperceptibly when Harry walked over and passed his wand to him without missing a beat.

Tonks reluctantly made to stop him. "Y-you don't have to do that, Harry. You're not on bloody trial here."

"I've nothing to hide," Harry said softly. Another lie.

Podmore waved his wand over Harry's, his eyes never leaving the boys except to check the floating apparition of his last spell.

"The banishing charm," Tonks needlessly intoned, happy to see her partners suspicions wrong once more.

Podmore wasn't satisfied, and went back as far as priori incantatem would allow him, listing off the last four spells used by Harry. They were all basic charms used in school, though they were sixth year level, as one would expect from someone with Harry's reputation. Harry had long since been 'clearing' his wand history after every mock duel with his father during the holidays, on the off chance anything ever occured where his wand would be searched. Paranoia had its benefits.

"Satisfied?" Tonks asked. She sounded almost relieved, Harry noted.

"Not even close," mumbled Podmore through gritted teeth before turning and leaving without a backwards glance, taking James' journal with him.

"Wait! What about my fa-"

"I'm confiscating this, though something tells me you won't miss it overly much." He held up said journal tauntingly over his shoulder. "This is not over, Mr. Potter, tempted as I am to wash my hands of you. In the meantime, do your father a favor and try not to get yourself killed." With a final side-eye, Podmore turned and left towards the fireplace. Tonks and Harry heard the flames of the floo rise and then go out, signalling the abrupt departure of Sturgis Podmore.

"I'm sorry," Tonks said at long last. The two didn't meet each other's eyes for a minute. "I walked you into an ambush, I know, but I swear I didn't expect it to go on like that. He's normally more devil-may-care on the job, ya know? I don't know what's come over him lately. I'm sorry," she finished lamely, repeating herself with a sigh.

Harry shook his head. "It's alright. It's not your fault… It's not his, either. He's just doing his job."

' _Doing it too well_ ,' he thought.

"He's a prat," Tonks stated bluntly, and Harry almost smiled. "That being said, you didn't do yourself any favors either. You've got quite a mouth on you, Harry."

He nodded, well aware that he was quiet so often because his mouth tended to get him in trouble. Case in point; "All the better for kissing, Tonks."

Tonks rolled her eyes at his avoidance, but he saw her lips twitch in a smile. "Be serious for a moment. Didn't the two of you know each other before?"

Harry sighed but nodded. "Yeah, but not like you and I. He was my father's colleague. His friend as well, I suppose, but we never really made a connection, Podmore and I. He always seemed more interested in the furniture or the weather outside than he did in having a conversation with a 'boy'. Nice to see not much has changed."

"I wouldn't say that," Tonks said, a finger absentmindedly gliding down her jawline. "Like I said, he's been different ever since, well, your father's death. Colder, more focused. Maybe he really is just looking out for you in his own special way? He owes it to your father."

"What do you mean?" This was the first Harry had heard of Podmore owing his father anything. In fact, it was the first time anyone other than his father even discussed the man. He wasn't exactly a popular guy. "Like a life debt?"

"You mean your father never told you?"

Harry shook his head in the negative. Tonks seemed to hesitate, which only made his curiosity grow. "Tonks?"

She shook her head clear, as though gathering the information. "It was during the First Wizarding War with You-Know-Who." Harry was fully invested now. "Podmore had been an auror then as he is now, just a few years ahead of your father and Uncle Sirius."

Tonks paused at the mention of her uncle; Harry's godfather and the man who'd named him heir to the Black family. Harry had to remind himself that she had spent more time with the charismatic, care-free man than he had, her loss just as deep if not deeper than his when Sirius had died.

Tonks cleared her throat. "I don't know the details, but Moody told me that Podmore was very different back then. He was talented and ambitious and, somehow - though I can't picture it - goofy. A clear contrast to his apathetic, murose self. He was a rising star in the ranks of the DMLE, even for an auror, and his standing in the Order was solid. Then came the night of the Christmas ambush in Diagon Alley…"

Harry knew what night she was referring to. His father told him about that night, along with many others. It was the night the Order lost five members in one fell swoop… including two of its greatest. Already, he could see pieces of the puzzle coming together.

"Podmore had been in rotation that night. Diagon patrol, along with Auror Hammish and a few others. The Prewett Twins, Fabian and Gideon were some of the Order's best and bravest. Priority targets to the Death Eater scum, almost as much as your father and mother were. They were on holiday and off duty, shopping in Diagon Alley when the ambush began. Podmore and several other patrolling aurors, some of them order members, responded immediately. That's when the anti-apparition wards kicked in…" A small amount of fear entered the rookie aurors voice. "It was a slaughter. They killed them all to a man, a dozen dark cloaks, led by Dolohov and, as we'd later find out, Augustus Rockwood."

The mere mention of his mother's killer even after all these years - and now the main suspect behind his father's death - made Harry's blood boil. He hadn't needed to rely on his father's stories to know how dangerous and foul the man was. Harry had done his own extensive research into the supposed fastest spellcaster in the country at the time. He'd killed many people, including…

"The Prewett twins gave a hell of a fight," Tonks continued. "They'd gone down riddled with all manor of spells, taking over half of the attacking forces with them as best as we could sort out. But fall they did. They all did…" Tonks looked into Harry's eyes. "All, that is, except Podmore. Soon as the wards came down, he'd taken a cutting curse across the chest. A nasty wound leaving an equally nasty scar, but not quite lethal enough. It took him out of the fight, momentarily, and he bled out as his brothers and sisters in arms died around him. He saw Dolohov personally execute Gideon, Fabian having passed seconds prior. His memories of the ordeal were used to verify the events, of course, which led to an unfortunate discovery…"

"He played possum," Harry surmised, a strange feeling in his chest.

Tonks nodded sadly. "Far as I can tell, he'd been brave all his life up to then, but in that moment… when the cutter sliced his chest and the wards blocked escape and the spellfire rained hell upon them... well, I guess you can only be brave for so long. He pretended to be dead, and no one could have blamed him, except that the Prewett twins hadn't. They'd gotten up time and time again, fighting whilst dying. Brave to the end. Not like Podmore, or so others thought. Before he knew it, word got out about his cowardice, some even going so far as to call him a traitor. Why else would Rockwood and Dolohov leave him alive? They were clever enough to know he wasn't dead. I mustered the courage to ask Podmore that once…"

"What did he say?"

"He said it was a punishment on Rockwood's part. He'd stayed Dolohov's eager hand before smiling - _smiling_ \- at Podmore. Like he knew that Podmore's life would never be the same again. And it wasn't. Everywhere he turned, he got the cold shoulder. Men who'd been his friends, partners whose lives he'd even saved in previous skirmishes, even his fiancé at the time. They all turned their backs on him, unable to stand being associated with a coward. Not then, not during a war that had already taken so much…"

Harry tried to process all of this. Tried to put himself in Podmore's shoes. He felt with every fibre of his being he would have done things differently; he would have gotten up, kept fighting until the end, just as his parents did.

But how could he be sure?

"Everyone, that is, except your father." Harry looked up, only partially surprised. "He vouched for Podmore with the Order, who were all suspicious of each other by that time. It was because of him that Podmore was able to keep his career, the ostracization of his peers threatening to cause enough backlash where he'd either be fired or want to quit himself. Just as he credits James' forgiveness as to what made him a better man, a better auror - a braver one, responsible for apprehending Avery and several others near the end of the war - I feel the loneliness drove him to be the man you may know him as now."

Harry didn't say anything for a while.

Tonks seemed content to let him work things out himself, as she paced around the living room, picking at the few items lining the glass and mahogany cabinets in the otherwise spartan house. She seemed particularly enamored by a pendant with a triangle surrounding a circle, bisected by a sharp vertical line.

"Fear makes us do regrettable things," Harry said at last, his voice pulling her away from the odd trinket. "But his tragedy won't be my undoing either, Tonks."

"Harry-"

"No, I understand. I do." His eyes were earnest. "At least… as much as I possibly can without going through it. And I hope I never have to. I can see the demons driving him, forcing him to be so harsh on me. He may even think it's for my own good."

"It is," Tonks mumbled, but Harry plowed on.

"But I can't back down either, Tonks. I've nothing to hide," the auror fixed with with a searching look, but Harry pressed his point, "and I won't be bullied or coerced into saying otherwise, regardless of the man's intentions."

Tonks looked murose at this.

"But... " He caught her attention and tried to offer a small smile. "I'll do my best to go easy on him."

It took a moment, but Tonks smiled. Harry knew her suspicions of him weren't put away yet, but he appreciated her gesture nonetheless. The fact that she wanted him to see Podmore's point of view on things showed that she truly cared, for better or worse. It hurt him to know that; people who cared about him usually wound up dead.

"Your eyes are always so distant, Harry."

He'd been caught staring at her -through her, far away - and no concerned bubblegum pink eyes gazed at him. "You always look so old when you do. Like you've got some impossible weight on you."

"What can I say?" Harry, turning coy at her beautiful if penetrating look, shrugged for the umpteenth time that day, as he turned to stare off towards the mountain as rain fell once more upon the Welsh countryside. "I have bad posture."

Tonks didn't deign his incredibly lame joke with so much as a smile. Instead, her concern increased as she drew up alongside him. "You can't keep running from these things with humor, Harry. It's alright to be overwhelmed - it's alright to be afraid." She grabbed his hand gently, having to look up ever so slightly into his eyes.

Eyes that remained distant, fixed on the storm clouds above. "I'm not afraid, Tonks. Death doesn't frighten me."

She squeezed his hand, though he didn't squeeze back. "And that's what worries me. Besides, there's more to fear than dying."

"Whether there is or not, it makes no difference to me." He turned to look at her now, his eyes as cold and sharp as ice in a moment of pure transparency. "I'm not afraid."

Tonks could only gaze back sadly, words failing her in that moment. "You're running from it again…"

Harry turned back to the window, the look on his face - the vulnerability, the anger - disappearing without a trace. Storm clouds loomed overhead and a crack of thunder was heard in the distance as the rain fell and fell.

"Everyone runs, Tonks."

* * *

AN: Sorry for the long wait. Life has been rough. Wishing you all well, wherever you are.

Next chapter, the plot progresses and the actions picks up with a duel… or two.

Mahalo for any and all support.


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